THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


44 


MY     BOOK 


WASHINGTON,  D.  0. 

JAMES    M.    STEWART. 

1894. 


Copyrighted,  1894,  by  the  Author, 
JAMES  M.  STEWART. 


• 


PEE  FACE. 


In  presenting  this  volume  of  selections,  gathered 
from  the  mass  of  my  writings — from  publications  of 
various  kinds  and  from  those  reserved  from  publica 
tion,  I  may  be  pardoned  for  a  little  conceit  in  stating 
that  every  line  in  this  book  was  put  in  type  and 
page-form  by  myself,  in  the  quiet  of  my  room,  during 
my  leisure  hours,  while  I  was  a  clerk  in  the  War 
Department, — 'an  occupation  most  pleasing  to  me ; — 
may  it  now  be  highly  profitable. 

I  should  like  to  append  to  the  above  statement  a 
short  account  of  some  of  the  events  of  my  life — 
varied  by  a  thousand  incidents  outside  the  common 
experiences,  since  I  left  my  father's  door,  to  make 
my  own  path  in  the  world,  in  1833,  when  I  was  eleven 
years  old ;  but  perhaps  the  public  would  not  care  to 
follow  me  iu  the  narrative. 


550501 


CONTENTS. 
o 

FAGS 

WASHINGTON.    Synopsis  of  Eulogy  and  Biography,      .      .  1 

Washington,  Eulogy, 3 

Drink  to  the  Brave,            44 

The  Jesuit's  Dream, 45 

The  Candidate  and  the  Jesuit,      .......  52 

Roland  and  Hildegarde— (Castle  of  Drachenfels,),     .       .  65 

A  World  Lost  and  Ke-Discovered 132 

Le  Paysan 135 

For  an  Autograph  Album, 136 

In  the  Coming  Time, 137 

All  la  not  Lost, •       ...  138 

My  Baby's  Shoes 139 

Our  Anna's  Grave, 140 

Look  Within 141 

Sonnet, 142 

To  a  Young  Mother, 143 

The  Mariner's  Serenade, 144 

Seasons  of  the  Soul, 145 

Summer  Morning, 149 

New  Metrical  Calendar, 150 

Blanche  of  Glenoraing, 150 

.  Song  of  Kequiem, — (John  Howard  Payne),          ...  151 

The  Albatross, 154 

Little  Brown  Cow, 155 

Not  Lost 157 

To  the  President's  Bride, 158 

The  L%st  Dream, 159 

Jamie  Boy  of  Tennessee 160 

Booth,  the  Assassin, 162 

Grace  before  Dinner, 164 

Dead  at  Mount  McGregor, 164 

Song  of  the  Samiot's  Wife, 165 

To  Mrs.  Josephine  Animon, 166 

V 


vi 


Morning  Dream, 168 

To  a  Wood's  Bluebell,        , 170 

Song  of  Life, 171 

Rose  of  the  Shannon, 178 

My  Sailor  Boy, 174 

The  Web  of  Life, 175 

Treasures  of  Memory,            177 

Fair  America, 178 

If  we  had  known, 180 

Song  of  the  Hindu  Maiden, 181 

My  Lady  Dear, 182 

Spirite, .182 

Whittier, 183 

Israel  Putnam, 184 

Sonnet, §  185 

To  the  Liberty  Bell 186 


SYNOPSIS 

OF 

HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  EULOGY. 


The  peopling  of  Countries.  Growth  of  Nations. 
Founding  of  Dynasties.  Struggles  for  the  over 
throw  of  oppressive  Rulers. 

Ancestors  of  General  Washington.  Establish 
ment  of  a  branch  of  the  family  in  America. 

Youth  of  Washington.  His  first  Love.  His  Stu 
dies.  Labors  and  Sports  of  the  Gentry  of  Virginia 
iu  the  olden  time.  The  Chase. 

Early  Manhood  of  Washington.  The  French  and 
Indian  War.  His  first  Battle.  Defeat  and  death 
of  Braddock. 

Coming  of  Mrs.  Washington  and  her  Children  to 
Mount  Vernou.  * 

First  rnutterings  of  the  storm  of  the  Eevolution. 
Battle  of  Bunker  Hill. 

The  first  Congress  in  Philadelphia.  DECLARA 
TION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

Washington  appointed  Commander  of  the  Amer 
ican  Army.    Assumes  command  at  Cambridge. 
"  Boston  in  Chains."    Movements  of  the  Patriot 
Forces.    The  British  evacuate  the  City. 

League  of  the  Colonies  for  the  prosecution  of  the 
struggle  for  Independence.  The  coming  of  Lafay 
ette,  Steuben,  Kosciusko,  and  other  foreigners  to 
fight  in  the  Patriot  Cause. 

War  of  the  Eevolution.  Hardships  encountered 
by  the  Army.  Difficulties  of  the  Commander-in- 

B 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


Chief.  Treason  of  Arnold.  Defection  among  the 
Generals.  Advent  of  the  French  Allies  and  Tri 
umph  of  the  Patriots. 

WASHINGTON  REFUSES  A  CROWN! 

Resigns  command  of  the  Army,  and  retires  to 
his  Estate. 

Formation  of  the  Federal  Union.  Washington 
the  first  President. 

Death  of  Washington. 

Mount  Vernon.    By  the  Tomb  of  Washington. 

Apotheosis. 


WASHINGTON. 


EULOGY. 

The  Manuscript  of  the  following  EPIC,  presented  by  the 
Author  to  the  II.  S.  National  Museum,  is  preserved  in 
one  of  the  cabinets  containing  the  relics  of  the  hero  and 
statesman:  GENERAL  WASHINGTON. 


Days  swiftly  pass  along  the  path  of  time, 
And  few  events  their  histories  comprise ; 

But  years  and  centuries  move  in  march  sublime, 
And  epochs  mark  where  changes  vast  arise. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  sweeps  over  lands, 

And  tribes  appear  that  break  and  till  the  soil; 

Hamlets  and  cities  grow,  where  defter  hands 
Ply  for  the  world  their  vast  and  varied  toil. 

For  all  the  vernal  affluence  :  bud  and  bloom, 
The  summer  fields,  and  autumn's  rich  array, 

The  withered  leaves  and  grasses,  and  the  gloom 
Which  mantles  nature's  darlings  in  decay. 

Thus  do  the  nations  have  their  times  of  spring, 
Flower,  fruit, — perchance  the  winter  destiny : 

For  power  abused  and  honor  lost  will  bring 
Dull  languor,  nerveless  life,  and  atrophy. 


Washington — History,  Bioyrapliy,  Euloyy. 


As  nature's  seasons  fruitage  times  present, 
So  phases  social  have  their  rise  and  range: 

Thought  quickens  hope  ;  then  faith  grows  eloquent, 
Prompts  higher  aim  and  dares  the  greater  change. 

With  boundaries  spreading,  numbers  multiply- 
Some  arrogantly  claiming  princely  state ; — 

The  brave  defend — they  die  for  liberty, 
Or  bow  before  inexorable  fate. 


But  God  is  right !     Though  peoples  be  in  fault, 
His  wiser  plan  and  purpose  never  fail ; 

His  agents  forward  press,  nor  ever  halt, 
Though  tyrant  reign,  or  anarchy  prevail. 

What  time,  am  id  the  whirl  of  varying  scenes, 
The  call  is  heard  as  honor  makes  demand, 

The  need  imperative  decrees  the  means, 
Ordains  for  work  and  nerves  the  willing  hand. 

A  nation's  annals,  on  historic  page, 
Oft  point  the  advent  of  a  better  reign : — 

With  Pericles  there  came  the  golden  age ; 
With  Moses,  Israel  broke  her  bondage  chain. 

So  thou,  my  country,  when  the  time  was  ripe 
For  liberty,  didst  summon  mighty  aid. 

And  from  thy  chivalry  its  noblest  type 
Arose  to  lead,  nor  ever  trust  betrayed. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 

He  wore  the  stamp  of  promise  on  his  face : 
Peer  of  fair  Egypt's  found,  adopted  one ; 

And  the  high  honors  of  a  loyal  race 

Were  ripe  in  him,  Virginia's  nobler  son. 


Endowed  with  health  in  nature's  generous  hour, 
Of  stature  formed  from  manhood's  highest  plan, 

Gentle,  yet  strong,  and  faithful  in  his  power, 
In  thought  and  act  he  was  a  worthy  man. 

Of  warrior  strain  came  he, — of  blood  approved, 
Whose  full,  deep  volume  beat  with  pulses  strong, 

Such  as  to  mercy  deeds  mankind  hath  moved, 
Nor  borne,  with  patience,  tyranny  and  wrong. 

The  records  of  his  ancient  line  commence 

Where  Gallia's  shores  breast  back  the  northern  sea; 

From  listed  fields  they  bear  their  honors  thence, 
In  the  proud  ranks  of  Norman  chivalry. 

But  not  alone  with  tourney  shield  and  lance, — 
In  battle's  graver  scenes  their  deeds  are  known : 

Their  challenge  sounds  far  in  the  van's  advance, 
Where  Harold's  fall  o'erthrows  the  Saxon  throne. 

In  royal  court,  or  march  of  war  they  move  ; 

To  council  wisdom,   and  to  field  they  bring 
Their  loyal  zeal,  and  by  devotion  prove 

They  love  their  country  and  revere  their  king. 


6        Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 

A  vigorous  stock,  adventurous — their  increase 
Pours  out  abroad  abundant  overflow. — 

They  bear,  with  shield,  the  olive  branch  of  peace ; 
They  wear  the  sword,  but  strike  no  useless  blow. 


Vast  realms  remote,  beyond  where  ocean  rolls 
Far  surges  tossing  westward  crests  of  foam, 

Invite  their  willing  feet,  their  earnest  souls, 
With  promise  of  contentment  and  a  home. 


Beyond,  and  still  beyond  the  sunset  skies, 
They  urge  the  straining  sail,  the  gliding  keel  ; 

And  other  lands,  where  other  stars  arise. 
The  empire  of  their  hopes  and  dreams  reveal. 

They  greet  the  fair  America, — a  bride 
Of  virgin  freshness  and  of  ample  dower ; 

The  forest  waves  them  welcome,  and  thy  tide, 
Potomac,  wafts  them  to  her  sylvan  bower. 

The  pride  of  ancestry  is  seldom  vain  ; 

But  honors  falsely  borne  can  naught  avail ; 
As  streams,  from  fountains  far  above  the  plain, 

Eeproachful  flow  where  soil  and  verdure  fail. — 

But  where,  with  ample  depth,  the  ancient  mold, 
Uudrained  by  wasteful  tilth,  in  richness  lies, 

How  fair  the  brooks  and  pastures,  as  of  old, 
And  stately  trees  with  swelling  crowns  arise. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


From  such  high  ancestry,  of  old  renowned, 
Came  he,  our  favored  country's  gifted  one  5 

So  lived,  so  moved  he,  that  the  world  hath  crowned 
With  proudest  bays  the  brow  of  WASHINGTON  ! 


YOUTH,  AND  BOY-LOVE  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Deem  it  not  idle  gossip  which  declares 
That  friends  impalpable  to  Earth  return, 

From  higher  realm,  to  ponder  early  cares, 
Or  minister  where  home's  loved  altars  burn. 


Man  may  not  judge, — perhaps  can  never  know 
The  secret  link  that  souls  to  substance  bind, 

iSTor  that  it  breaks,  dissevered  by  the  blow 
That  leaves  a  soulless  mass,  inert,  behind. 

A  presence  grand,  by  mortal  eyes  unseen, 
A  shadow  form,  perhaps,  in  yonder  hall 

Holds  mystic  court,  and,  with  benignant  mien. 
Gives  gracious  benediction  unto  all ; 

Or  still,  with  winning  voice  and  placid  face, 
Eenews  the  ancient,  hospitable  care, 

In  kind  solicitude,  with  courteous  grace, 
For  loving  pilgrims,  reverent,  gathered  there. 


8         Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 

For  he  had  boyish  loves — this  man  so  great, 
Who  bore  a  nation's  shield  upon  his  arm  : 

Friends,  serfs,  mute  pets,  vast  acres  of  estate, 
And  modest  maiden  beauty's  wooing  charm. 


Meseems  that  now,  by  field,  or  purling  brook, 
His  spirit  lingers,  as  in  early  youth, 

When,  pondering  kindly  deeds,  his  spirit  took 
From  nature  beautiful  its  trust  and  truth. 


Thou,  broad  Potomac,  veiled  in  early  morn, 
Or  silver- surfaced  in  the  summer  noon, 

Or  starred  by  myriad  worlds  to  glory  born  : 
Companions  of  the  sweet,  night -wedded  moon  ; 

Ye  woods,  once  haunt  of  red  deer  shy  and  fleet, 
Ye  glens,  with  deep  recesses  cool  and  dim, 

And  ye,  soft  lawns  that  soothe  the  fevered  feet, 
All,  all  are  mutely  eloquent  of  him. 

Here  youthful  sports  with  manlier  deeds  were  blent ; 

Here  first-love  wings  were  folded  in  his  breast : — 
The  sweet  revealment !  witching  discontent ! 

The  dear  delirium  !  ecstasy's  unrest. 

Perhaps  he  trod  these  lawns  in  pensive  bliss, 
As  tender  fancies  fanned  the  mystic  flame, 

And  feigned  in  fragrant  flowers  his  lady's  kiss, 
Or  whispered  to  the  amorous  wind  her  name. 


ft 
Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.        9 

Or  oft  lie  launched  bis  boat,  with  careless  grace, 
Wheii  them,  O  river  !  wooed  his  languid  oar, 

And  fancied  on  the  moonlit  waves  her  face, 
Or  dreamed  her  sweet  vqice  calling  from  the  shore 

O  youth's  first  bliss !  heart  gold  without  alloy ! 

Hope  thrilled  by  visions  beautiful  and  sweet! 
Thou  bright  weft  woven  in  the  web  of  joy, 

Of  memory's  darlings  thou  art  best,  complete. 

Ah !  ever  they  who  young  love's  anguish  know, 
Have  kindly  natures  in  life's  later  day ; 

So  withered  flowers,  or  buds  which  never  blow, 
Eetain  some  fragrance  in  their  slow  decav. 


Such  fate  was  thine,  thou  gentle  youth  ;  thy  love 
With  faith's  ethereal  veil  invested  one ; 

But  not  for  thee  the  thoughtless  girl, — thy  dove, 
Dear,  but  perhaps  unworthy  Washington. 


EARLY  MANHOOD.    His  LABORS  AND  SPORTS. 

Broad  are  his  views,  his  aspirations  high, 
As  vigorous  youthhood,  with  elastic  feet, 

Moves  toward  the  goal,  as  years  are  passing  by, 
Where  the  great  chart  of  life  shall  be  complete. 


10       Washington — History,  Biography,  Euloyy. 

Home  duties  well  performed  with  zealous  care, 
A  spirit  free  and  bold,  and  glowing  health, 

And  blood  electric  as  the  mountain  air, 
Endow  him  with  the  best  of  nature's  wealth. 


To  science  drawn,  to  learned  themes  inclined, 

To  emulate  the  honor  of  his  race, 
He  stores  with  treasure  things  his  active  mind, 

And  toil  and  sport  develop  manly  grace. 

But  late,  in  memories  of  thy  ancient  men, 

Were  pictured  scenes  of  high  enjoyment  there ; 

And  history  points,  and  fame's  delightful  pen, 
Thy  hospitable  homes,  Virginia  fair. 


Mount  Vernon  hall,  in  halcyon  days  of  old, 
Had  many  guests :  proud  men  and  stately  dames, 

Culpeper,  Fairfax,  and  the  scores  untold 
That  bore,  with  honor,  honorable  names. 


There  hours  of  pleasure  flew  on  joyous  wing ; 

The  store  was  ample,  the  enjoyment  free ; 
They  drank  to  beauty,  honor,  and  the  king, 

And  some  there  were  who  drank  to  liberty. 

Broad  ran  the  peaceful  river  in  the  east ; 

Far  spread  the  grander  forests  in  the  west ; 
And  many  a  savage  brute,  or  gentler  beast, 

Made  pastime  rare  for  master  and  for  guest. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      11 

Fancy  presents,  in  vivid  tints,  the  view 
Of  mettled  coursers,  fleet  and  rare  of  race, 

That  spurn,  with  polished  hoofs,  the  glistening  clew, 
And  loudly  neigh,  impatient  for  the  chase. 


Behold!  the  autumn  dawnlight  hints  the  day; 

The  gray,  cool  mist  on  field  and  valley  lies ; 
The  joyous  hounds  are  free  ;  away !  away ! 

A  stag  of  ten  must  be  the  morning  prize  ! 

Deep-voiced,  the  cries  far  cadences  awake  : 
Sonorous  base  and  lighter  melody  ; 

Such  sylvan  harmonies  resounding  make 
For  huntsman's  ears  the  sweetest  minstrelsy. 


And  oak -crowned  height  and  winding  forest  dell, 
Responsive,  wakening  to  the  merry  morn, 

With  frolic  echoes  join  the  strains  to  swell 
Of  baying  hounds  and  calls  of  bugle- horn. 

By  sunlit  hills,  and  over  fragrant  vales, 
By  woodlands  deep  and  many  a  streamlet  ford, 

The  hunt  extends,  till  youthful  ardor  fails, 
And  ample  store  awaits  the  festive  board. 

In  sport  like  this,  or  in  the  grave  debate, 
In  husbandry,  or  with  the  ready  pen, 

The  old-time  fathers  glorified  the  State, 
And  lived  the  lives  of  strong  and  worthy  men. 


12       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


Mother  of  stalwart  sons  and  daughters  now, 
A  vigorous  stock  in  youth  or  life's  full  prime, 

Mother  of  statesmen,  O  Virginia !  thou 
Mayst  well  exult  and  point  thine  earlier  time. 


THE  FRENCH  AND  INDIAN  WAR. 

Foremost  for  right  in  every  high  employ, 
Alive  to  all  that  makes  life  excellent, 

He  presses  onward,  and  the  noble  boy 
In  honor's  cause  is  brave  and  eloquent. 


The  pride  and  vigor  of  bis  knightly  race, 
The  high  ambition  of  those  ancient  sires, 

Point  ever  unto  danger's  foremost  place, 
And  calls  for  war  revive  the  fiercer  fires. 


For  hark  !  from  lands  remote,  beyond  his  gaze, 
In  anguish  notes  the  midnight  cries  of  fear 

Resound  from  scenes  of  woe  where  hamlets  blaze, 
And  shrieks  of  wives  assailed  appal  the  ear. 

And  all  the  lion  in  his  soul  awakes ! 
"Arm  for  defence !  the  voice  of  manhood  cries ; 
Nor  danger  daunts,  nor  toil  his  purpose  shakes, 
Nor  all  the  tears  that  dim  a  mother's  eyes. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      13 

To  meet  the  Indian  foes  he  sounds  his  call, 

Which,  reaching  hills  and  valleys  near  and  far, 

Summons  the  hardy  yeomen  to  the  hall, 
To  strike  with  him  the  awful  blow  of  war. 


Listens  Dinwiddie,  in  his  place  of  power, 
The  wail  of  wives  and  many  a  hapless  one : — 

Mount  and  away !  and  glory  strikes  the  hour, 
Morn  of  thy  nobler  life,  O  Washington ! 

Led  by  their  youthful  chief,  the  warriors  ride 
Through  tangled  thicket  vale  and  mazy  wood,- 

Men  of  fierce  bravery,  and  true  and  tried, 
That  oft  the  savage  onsets  have  withstood. 

Not  then  as  now  the  path  those  brave  men  trod ; 

]So  pleasant  fields  beyond  the  vistas  lay ; 
Nor  harvest  glories  crowned  the  upturned  sod; 

Wild,  wilderiug  and  dangerous  was  the  way. 

The  dark  barbarian,  skilled  in  forest  lore, 
In  ambush  lurked,  a  swift  and  wary  foe, 

Or  plied,  by  shaded  streams,  with  noiseless  oar, 
In  birch  canoe,  and  struck  his  deadly  blow. 

Sternly,  to  wreak  their  vengeance  and  the  doom 
Of  war,  those  yoeinen  toiled  along  their  path  5 

Nor  heeded  they  the  solitude,  the  gloom 
Of  nature  and  the  tempest  voice  of  wrath. 


14       Washington — History,  Biography,  Euloyy. 

Where  trees  their  tangled  branches  overarched, 
By  cliffs,  the  ramparts  of  the  Indian  braves, 

Where  copses  thick  could  shield  a  foe  they  inarched, 
And  lonely  glens  might  be  their  forest  graves. 

They  struck  the  savage  in  his  native  haunt, 

And  he  recoiled,  abashed  if  unsubdued ; 
Thenceforth  less  vicious  were  his  boast  and  taunt, 
•    His  mien  less  stubborn,  insolent  and  rude. 


Let  history  pause,  and  for  a  moment  trace, 
In  thoughtful  mood,  by  rule  of  right  sustained, 

The  fearful  wrongs  inflicted  on  the  race 

From  whom  this  glorious  continent  was  gained. 

They  bade  the  Spaniard  welcome  to  their  .shore. 

They  fed  him  from  their  groves,  their  sylvan  herds, 
And  learned  full  soon  the  weight  of  chain  they  wore, 

Forged  by  the  treachery  of  wily  words. 

Untaught  of  art,  to  gentleness  inclined, 
The  honor  of  their  homes  they  freely  gave  ; 

The  stranger  found  them  hospitable,  kind, 
And  made  of  each  a  toiling,  hopeless  slave. 

Their  faith  was  simple,  suited  to  their  need  ; 

No  more  to  know,  they  scarce  could  go  astray  ; 
The  stranger  pointed  heaven,  through  mystic  creed, 

And  left  them,  rudely  taught,  to  grope  their  way. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      15 


Led  gently  on,  by  thoughtful,  patient  heed, 
They  might  have  risen  to  a  high  estate ; 

As  taught,  the  cross,  in  time  of  sorest  need, 
Became  to  them  the  finger-post  of  fate. 

They  lived  the  life  of  forest  innocence, 
By  social  arts  and  sophistries  untried  ; 

Their  deeds,  their  histories  taught  them  eloquence, 
And  nature  bountiful  their  wants  supplied. 

They  loved  and  were  beloved ;  the  cares  of  home, 
If  few,  comprised  the  dearest  joys  they  knew; 

In  mighty  woodlands  they  were  free  to  roam ; 
In  war  relentless,  but  in  friendship  true. 

They  had  their  own,  the  simpler  forms  of  state; 

Aroused,  with  manly  fortitude  they  strove; — 
Mark  we  the  line  between  barbarian  hate 

And  ours,  should  evil  menace  those  we  love, 

And  would  we  fail  th'avenging  blade  to  draw 
Against  invaders  of  their  peace  and  rest, 

Or  bow  supinely  to  the  social  law, 
And  leave  the  wrong  and  outrage  uuredressed? 

We  deem  that  Providence  designed  this  land, 
Once  wilderness,  for  men  to  wisely  use ; 

<Tis  won — 'tis  ours; — thus  let  the  record  stand, 
Nor  dare  the  means  of  conquest  to  excuse ! 


16       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


Flout  not  his  memory  with  word  of  scorn; — 
Lo !  where  the  trees  their  bending  branches  wave, 

And  where  the  ploughshare  sires  our  golden  corn, 
The  red -man's  home,  the  hapless  Indian's  grave. 

But  French  invaders  sought  the  prize  to  wring 
From  those  who  urged  more  honorable  gain — 

Who  claimed,  by  title  from  the  British  king, 
The  right  of  free  dominion  and  domain. 

Thou,  gallant  Braddock,  felt  their  craft  and  power, 
Their  vengeance  by  Monongahela's  shore, 

Where  unseen  foemen  poured,  in  battle  hour, 
Libations  to  their  god,  the  British  gore. 

And  there,  as  one  endowed  with  charmed  life, 
Fought  the  young  Washington,  a  mark  lull  fair, 

Unharmed,  untouched,  through  all  the  awful  strife, 
Where  bullets  rang,  where  arrows  filled  the  air. 

The  hand  of  God  protected,  as  with  shield, 
From  the  fierce  rage  of  war  that  peerless  form, 

For  future  work,  upon  a  vaster  field 
Scatheless  to  ride  amidst  a  wilder  storm. 


Such  was  the  rude  baptismal  rite  of  fire 
Which  gave  America  her  chieftain  sage  : 

Wise  to  advance,  like  Fabius  to  retire. 
And  win  for  freedom  freemen's  heritage. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      17 

THE  BIRTH  OF  LIBERTY. 

In  council  calm,  as  in  the  battle  bold, 
His  ardent  soul  yearns  for  the  state's  defence, 

Where  sweeps,  o'er  venerable  statesmen  old, 
The  wave  of  Henry's  glorious  eloquence. 


New  trust  in  Heaven,  of  patriot  wisdom  taught, 
And  hope  for  man  are  in  the  public  mind 

Advancing'  with  a  swelling  tide  of  thought, 
To  hail  the  morn  of  glory  for  mankind. 

The  greed  of  arrogance,  the  ruthless  sway, 

The  bondage  with  inevitable  blight, 
Are  being  measured,  in  the  solemn  day, 

Against  the  public  due,  the  common  right. 

Fields  dressed  for  beauty  by  the  plough  and  hoe, 
Vast  rivers  smoothly  wending  to  the  sea, 

All  harvest  nature  with  a  smile  aglow, 

Teach  that  wise -thoughtful  peoples  should  be  free. 

As  flush  the  eastern  skies  with  coming  day, 
As  sunlight  broadens  into  morning  prime, 

So  shall  the  gloom  of  ages  pass  away, 
And  leave  a  brighter  brotherhood  sublime  ! 


18       Washington — History,  Biography.  Eulogy. 

HOME-LIFE  AT  MOUNT  VEENON. 

Soldier  and  statesman,  yet  a  man  withal, 
Formed  to  adorn  the  sphere  of  happier  life, 

The  lover  brings,  to  grace  his  rural  hall, 
A  mistress  beautiful,  a  faithful  wife. 


And  children  with  her  come,  to  lend  the  scene 
The  innocence  of  youth,  its  tender  joy : 

A  gentle  girl  with  pleasant  eyes  serene, 
And,  a  fond  mother's  pride,  a  noble  boy. 


To  these  he  tunas  with  all  the  glow  of  love 
That  beams  benignly  in  a  father's  eyes ; 

For  Heaven  hath  sent  the  lonely  nest  a  dove, 
But  gift  of  offspring  of  his  blood  denies. 

Faith -winged,  his  hours  of  happiness  increase, 
And  added  burdens  only  blessings  seem ; 

His  love  is  purity,  his  home  is  peace. 
And  all  his  joy  is  like  a  morning  dream. 

With  vast  domain — almost  a  royal  dower — 
And  teeming  meads  that  generous  gifts  bestow, 

And  friendships,  ever  charm  of  social  hour, 
His  cup  is  full,  with  brimming  overflow. 

And  thou  wert  lovely  in  the  olden  time. 
Mount  Vernon,  fairer  in  the  days  of  old ; 

Rich  in  the  products  of  a  genial  clime, 
In  nature's  blazon -work,  of  green  and  gold. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      19 


Thy  bowers,  long  desolate,  like  cypress  shade 
That  gives  to  solitude  funereal  gloom, 

Were  gay  with  life  in  fairest  hues  arrayed, 
With  manliest  men  and  woman's  bud  and  bloom. 


There  the  tired  wanderer  for  the  night  reposed ;  * 
The  unfed  hungry  from  thy  gates  away 

Was  never  turned ;  thy  doors  were  never  closed 
To  stranger  guest,  forbidding  him  to  stay. 

Thy  master,  whose  mild  law  was  absolute, 

Where  spread  his  acres  and  their  boundaries  ran, 

In  courtesy,  though  grave,  displayed  the  fruit 
Of  nature's  master-work,  a  high-bred  man. 

Thy  mistress  ruled  her  home  with  matron  grace, 
And  smiling  homage  owned  her  gentle  reign; 

Her  queenly  dignity,  her  pleasant  face, 
Inspired  devotion,  but  forbade  to  feign, 


They  held  their  servants  by  the  tie  of  friend, 
Attentive  to  each  need  and  honest  claim ; 

Prompt  to  their  griefs  the  ready  ear  to  lend, 
And  only  stern  when  justice  was  the  aim. 

These  toilers  lived  inAnnocence  of  guile, 
Unknowing,  fearing  not  oppressive  power; 

The  prized  reward  was  an  approving  smile, 
If  toil  compelled,  or  pleasure  ruled  the  hour. 


20       Washington — History,  Biography,  Euloyy. 


Tradition  points,  and  fancy's  pencil  paints 
The  moonlit  evening  and  the  emerald  lawn. 

As,  mindful  of  the  few  and  light  restraints, 
They  dance,  with  gestures  free  as  forest  fawn. 

And  master,  mistress  and  the  mansion  guest, 
Have  pleasant  smiles  and  words  for  each  and  all, 

Till  heedful  cares  proclaim  the  hour  for  rest. 
And  hush  for  silent  night  the  lawn  and  hall. 


THE  COMING  WAR  STRUGGLE.     BATTLE  OF 
BUNKER  HILL. 

Sweet  dream  of  peace,  contentment  and  repose  ! 

Why  break  the  charm  ?  why  rend  the  silver  cord  ? 
Alas!  'tis  fate; — our  briefest  days  are  those 

WThich  wing  our  hopes,  which  measure  our  reward. 

More  dear,  O  Washington !  to  thee  more  fair 
Thy  rich  domain  than  other  lands  of  Earth ; 

For  all  thy  joy  is  centered  in  the  care 
Of  home  companions  by  thine  ample  hearth. 

As  morning  skies  are  oft  toofmght  to  last, 

So  now  on  thy  horizon  dark  appears 
A  storm  of  war,  whose  desolating  blast 

Shall  end  thy  peace,  and  shade  thy  coming  years. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      21 

Long  have  the  people  to  oppression  bowed, 
And  purchased  for  their  homes  inglorious  joy ; 

Stung  to  resistance  now,  they  cry  aloud 
That  God  shall  rule  and  tyranny  destroy. 


The  insolent  encroachments  of  the  king, 
Hope  born  of  thought  in  faith's  approving  hour, 

Fire  the  free  souls,  and  they  indignant  fling 
Back  to  the  throne  defiance  of  its  power. 

Brave  men  can  die,  but  they  will  not  be  slaves ! 

Is  the  fierce  language  of  each  patriot's  eye; — 
Sternly  they  meet  around  the  bloody  graves, 

And  "Lexington  and  vengeance!"  is  their  cry. 

That  martyr  blood  poured  out  upon  the  sod — 
Each  drop  more  precious  than  the  rarest  gem 

In  England's  crown — the  master- hand  of  God 
Shall  set  in  freedom's  priceless  diadem. 

O  !  it  is  glorious  to  behold  the  rage 

Of  those  whom  ravage  to  resistance  drives; 

O  !  it  is  joy  to  write  on  country's  page 
The  roll  of  honor  and  the  gift  of  lives. 


From  vale  and  hill-top  sounds  the  call :  "  To  arms  P 
The  echoes  ring,  and  fife  and  clarion  horn, 

And  clamorous  drum- beat  send  the  wild  alarms 
Afar  this  battle-pregnant  April  morn  ! 


22       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


The  wrathful  yeoinan  for  a  moment  stays 
To  wipe  the  sweat-drops  from  his  frowning  brow; 

Stern  Putnam  hears,  and  with  his  eyes  ablaze 
With  passion,  in  the  furrow  leaves  his  plough. 

Again  he  grasps  his  ancient  battle-blade, 
Mounts  the  old  farm -horse,  and.  with  words  of  ban, 

Spurs  off,  away,  in  homespun  garb  arrayed, 
To  urge  the  war  and  lead  the  army  van. 

Old  Stark,  afar  in  his  New  Hampshire  town, 
Listens  the  call,  and  vaults  upon  his  steed, 

And,  like  a  vengeful  thunderbolt,  comes  dowu 
To  fight  for  country  in  the  hour  of  need. 

From  farm,  and  forge,  and  many  a  hamlet  home, 
From  menaced  lauds,  or  regions  far  away, 

Fathers  and  sturdy  sons  together  come, 
To  strike  for  God  in  war's  red  battle  day. 

Prescott,  renowned  for  valiant  arm  is  there, 
Whose  deeds  are  told  in  many  a  soldier  song; 

Knowlton,  and  Ward,  and  Gridley,  swift  to  dare 
The  foremost  place  and  urge  the  charge  along. 

Warren,  aflame  for  liberty  adored, 
And  hundreds  more  who  feel  the  glory  thrill, 

Poise  the  long  firelock,  point  the  flashing  sword, 
And  wreak  the  wrath  of  Heaven  from  Bunker  Hill. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      23 

That  height  is  freedom's  altar  !     Lo!  the  flame, 
The  smoke  as  incense  rising  to  the  sky  ; 

There  the  brave  patriots  their  decree  proclaim, 
And  hear,  unmoved,  war's  awf'ul  voice  reply. 


The  foes  advance  in  haste,  with  bated  breath, 
Against  that  earthwork  yesterday  unknown  ; — 

Thrice  march  the  serried  soldier  ranks  to  death ; 
Twice  they  recoil,  o'erwhelmed  and  overthrown. 

They  swarm  upon  the  height,  but  at  the  cost 
Of  shattered  files,  the  mangled  and  the  slain  ; 

Honor  they  save ;  but  ancient  prestige  lost, 
Gives  to  the  patriot  cause  unmeasured  gain. 

England  shall  mourn  that  fearful  sacrifice, 

Where  Freedom  fell  to  live,  where  Warren  died; 

Her  vain  regret  shall  pay  the  heavy  price 
For  wrong  inflicted  and  for  right  denied. 

Unwisely  cast,  the  boomerang  may  turn 
And  pierce  the  dusky  warrior  where  he  stands; 

War- flames,  if  lighted  heedlessly,  may  burn, 
Subdued  alone  by  desolated  lands. 


Freedom,  assailed,  o'erthrown,  shall  lift  her  head 
Again,  and  still  again  in  ceaseless  birth ; 

As  verdure,  from  the  ashes  of  the  dead, 
Springs  forth  anew  to  beautify  the  Earth. 


24       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

To  inmost  depth  the  public  soul  is  stirred ; 

The  chieftains  listen,  like  wild  steeds  restrained, 
The  utterance  of  that  spirit-thrilling  word 

Conceived  in  justice  and  of  Heaven  ordained. 


What  grasp  can  give  full  freedom  to  the  pen, 
What  pencil-tint-  the  glorious  light  recall 

Which  glows  upon  the  brows  of  those  grave  men 
In  Congress  met,  in  Independence  Hall  ? 

O  Liberty !  how  excellent  art  thou ! 

The  highest  good  in  human  destinies ; 
How  grand  are  they  who  at  thy  altar  vow 

To  live  for  thee,  or  die  thy  votaries ! 

Momentous  issues  hang  upon  the  hour ; 

They  question  fortune ;  they  demand  of  fate 
Eevealmeut  of  the  future ;  pray  for  power 

To  break  the  thraldom,  unify  the  State. 

What  shall  the  verdict  of  the  Congress  be  ? 

Will  they  be  true  in  this  soul-trying  time? 
And,  rising  to  the  height  of  majesty, 

Will  they  pronounce  the  shiboleth  sublime  ? 

"  Ring  !  Grandxire,  ring  /" — O !  broken  is  the  spell ! 

Light,  O  ye  people !  all  your  altar  flames ! 
"  Ring  !  Grandxire,  ring  /"  and  Independence  bell 

To  wondering  nations  Liberty  proclaims ! 


Washington — History,  Biography.  Eulogy.      25 

Rend  the  old  garb  of  withered  Eden  leaves, 
And  cast  the  fragments  to  the  vagrant  wind ; 

Henceforth  the  warp  and  weft  that  freedom  weaves 
Shall  form  a  robe  of  honor  for  mankind. 


WASHINGTON  APPOINTED  COMMANDER  OF  THE 

AMERICAN  ARMY. 

« 

The  laud  is  up !     What  chief  shall  draw  the  sword, 
To  point  the  battle  grounds,  nor  lay  it  down, 

Until  the  rights  of  man  shall  be  restored, 
And  honor  shall  decree  a  triumph  crown  ? 

The  people  rise !     Who  shall  their  leader  be, 
Of  fearless  soul,  like  Sparta's  hero  king  ! 

Who  consecrate  the  new  Thermopylae 
For  bud  and  bloom  of  fame's  eternal  Spring  t 

He  comes!     Virginia  sends  her  grandest  son. 

By  wise  men  chosen,  best  of  all  the  brave. 
Who  shall  proclaim,  by  deeds  heroic  done. 

That  faith,  with  valor  joined,  shall  country  save. 

O  Washington  !  how  wide,  how  vast  thy  field ! 

And  worthy  as  the  classic  land  of  Greece : — 
Thou  new  Leouidas !  behind  thy  shield 

Shall  march  the  new-born  nation  unto  peace. 


26       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


Thine,  Cambridge,  first  the  honor  to  behold 

The  sword  unsheathed  which  caught  the  morning 
beam, 

Which  history  shall  portray,  on  page  unrolled, 
Till  time  shall  end  and  break  Earth's  fever-dream. 


FIRST   MUTTERINGS   OF  THE  WAR-STORM. 

• 

Eebellion,  lift  thy  head,  the  die  is  cast ! 

Patriots!  united,  consecrate,  arise! 
'  Tis  revolution  now !  The  stream  is  passed ; 

Beyond  your  Enbicon  an  empire  lies ! 


Wrong,  or  redemption  ;  honor's  bloom,  or  blight ; 

Freedom,  or  bondage  with  a  heavier  chain; 
These  are  the  issues ; — Heaven,  defend  the  right, 

Or  all  thy  .promises  are  vague  and  vain. 

List  the  glad  omen !     Hark  !  the  patriots  hail 
Their  glorious  chief  with  loud  and  long  acclaim; 

Order  and  discipline  at  once  prevail, 
Evoked  from  chaos  by  his  magic  name. 

The  foes  are  many  and  the  task  is  hard ;. 

But  they  who,  armed  for  justice,  strike  their  blow, 
Are  servants  of  the  Lord,  and  He  will  guard 

Agaiust  their  failure  and  their  overthrow. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      27 

Sou  of  America!  of  wisdom  taught, 
Thou  art  the  fittest,  iu  these  solemn  hours, 

To  lead  our  armies,  guide  the  public  thought, 
While  horrors  threaten  as  the  darkness  lowers. 


Patriots  are  they,  but  soldiers  how  unlike, 

That  spring  to  arms  and  to  thy  standard  flock ; 

But  they  are  men  who  think  as  well  as  strike, 
And  strike  to  kill  or  conquer  in  the  shock. 


BELIEF  OF  BOSTON. 

Boston  in  chains!  low  at  her  conqueror's  feet! 

How  throbs  the  public  pulse  with  auger  thrill ! 
Eide !  horsemen ;  ride !   spur  your  strong  coursers 
fleet, 

And  cry  the  caU  for  war  from  every  hill. 


Father !  arise,  and,  with  your  gallant  sou, 
The  rude,  wild  lesson  of  the  conflict  learn  ; 

Mother!  prepare  when  battle  days  are  done, 
To  mourn  their  loss,  or  greet  their  home  return. 

Far  as  the  States  iu  league  extend  their  bounds, 
The  call  is  heard  aud  every  cord  is  tense ; 

The  clamor  rises,  and  the  shout  resounds 

Which  summons  all  for  State  and  home  defence. 


28       Washington — History,  Biography, 

O  grand  !  when  men  who  bondage  long  have  known, 
Arm  for  full  freedom, — not  ignoble  mean  ; 

These  are  not  hirelings  of  the  British  throne, 

Arrayed  for  war,  encamped  on  Cambridge  Green. 


East,  north  and  west  the  patriot  host  is  spread ; 

And  the  shrill  fife  and  clamorous  drum  are  heard, 
While,  marking  time,  they  halt  with  firmer  tread, 

And  wait  to  charge,  impatient  for  the  word. 


Close  draw,  and  closer  yet  the  lines ;  advance, 
Like  tide  encroaching  on  a  narrowing  bound  ; 

Your  wary  chieftain's  eyes,  with  lightning  glance, 
Shall  mark  for  you  each  point  of  vantage  ground. 

O  grand !  O  rare !  an  army  well  equipped 

For  war,  with  ships  in  harbor  filled  with  arms, 

Pent  up,  beleaguered !  fighting  not,  yet  whipped 
By  the  brave  toilers  of  the  shops  and  farms. 

Up  anchors !  turn  your  keels  and  sail  away. 

Ye  ruthless  bands  whose  trade  is  to  destroy ; 
Let  your  shamed  leader  veil  his  face  to-day. 

While  Boston  bells  ring  canticles  of  joy. 

Now  let  glad  anthems  rise,  the  cannons  roar: 
Xew  England  rends  the  shackle-chain  of  slaves ; 

She  spurns  the  foemeu  from  her  ocean  shore, 
And  bids  her  tempests  drive  them  o'er  the  waves. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      : 

But  pause  not  here  j  a  greater  work  remains 
Than  this,  so  glorious  and  so  wisely  iloue ; 

Thy  mission  is  to  break  all  British  chains 

That  bind  thy  struggling  country,  Washington. 


WAR  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Statesmen  and  leaders,  met  in  congress  grave, 
The  chances  weigh : — shall  Freedom  live  or  fall 

They  summon  patriot  heroes,  and  the  brave 
Arise,  and  arm,  and  rally  to  the  call. 


Behold  !  how  wondrous,  how  sublime  the  view  ! 

Vast  States  unite  for  war  and  dare  the  strife ! 
Propitious  Heaven  decrees  an  epoch  new ; 

A  nation  born  is  throbbing  into  life. 

Men  who  love  liberty,  of  other  lands,  declare 
That  all  have  equal  rights  and  should  be  free; 

And  chiefs  renowned  unto  our  shores  repair 
From  realms  beyond  the  vast  and  mighty  sea. 

From  Poland,  German  lauds,  from  gallant  France, 
They  come,  with  proffers  of  their  arms  and  aid, 

The  cause,  of  causes  greatest,  to  advance, 
Of  liberty,  so  dear,  so  oft  betrayed. 


30      Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


Honor  to  thee !  nor  shall  the  world  forget, 
Nor  freemen  fail  to  own  thy  priceless  worth, 

To  prize  thee,  love  thee,  generous  Lafayette, 
While  glory  writes  the  records  of  the  Earth. 


Dear  to  the  heart  of  Washington,  whose  arm 
Enfolds  and  straining  draws  thee  to  his  breast; 

Around  thy  memory  faith  shall  weave  her  charm, 
A  nation  hold  thee  aye  its  honored  guest. 


Steuben,  illustrious  in  thy  native  laud, 
Immortal  in  this  favored  realm  of  ours, 

If  thought  of  mine  fit  measure  could  command, 
How  should  my  pen  portray  thy  varied  powers  T 


Strong  arm  of  Washington !  his  anxious  soul 
Hath  need  of  thee  in  time  of  sore  dismay; 

Backward  thy  genius  shall  the  shadow  roll, 
And  light  reveal,  the  dawn  of  coming  day. 


Honor  to  thee !  O  Kosciusko !  thou 

Didst  dream  of  glorious  deeds  in  boyhood  days; 
The  world  shall  place  a  chaplet  on  thy  brow 

That  well  may  claim  ambition's  purest  bays. 

Thy  country  weighted  with  a  heavy  woe, 
Fierce  feuds  intestine,  noble  hearts  that  break, 

And  every  nearer  nation  for  a  foe, 

Well  mayst  thou  wear  the  cypress  for  her  sake. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      31 

And  ye,  all  men,  whate'er  your  lot  or  race, 

Who  to  America  devotion  bring, 
Fame  shall  accord  ye  worthy  page  and  place, 

And  history's  muse  shall  write  your  offering. 


The  world  is  tired  of  ravage  and  of  wroug, 
The  fetters  that  humility  has  worn  ; 

Manhood,  arise !  chant  your  immortal  song, 

And  point  your  banner  high  and  bravely  borne. 


Thine  is  the  honor,  O  my  country !  thine, 
To  be  the  battle-ground  of  Liberty ; 

Strong  be  thine  arm  ;  may  Providence  benign 
With  love  sustain,  with  light  encompass  thee. 


The  foe  is  mighty — she  whose  Hag  unfurled 
Waves  ever  in  the  sunlight  and  the  gale ; 

Whose  warrior  chiefs  are  known  of  all  the  world, 
Where  armies  march,  or  war's  great  navies  sail. 


And  art  thou  wary  ?    Dost  thou  measure  well 
The  task,  O  hero?    Hast  thou  Argus  eyes ? 

For  only  tireless  zeal  can  break  the  spell. 
And  wisdom  mark  the  dangers  that  shall  rise. 


Thy  voice  must  summon  armies ;  thou  must  lead 
In  swift  advance,  or  plan  the  wise  retreat ; 

And  thou  the  starving  soldier's  wants  must  plead 
His  rags,  his  wretchedness,  his  unshod  feet. 


."•i'       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


On  the  long  shores  where  break  Atlantic  waves, 
And  where  vast  rivers  to  the  sea  descend, 

Or  where  in  forests  lurk  the  Indian  braves. 
Thy  prescience  must  provide,  thine  arm  defend. 


Toil  thou  must  bear  with  patience ;  jealous  tongue 
Reproachful  word  and  bitter  taunt  shall  dare, 

Darkness  encompass  deepest  wilds  among, 
And  even  one,  thy  bosom  friend,  despair. 


Treason  shall  raise  its  foul  and  serpent  fang, 
To  sting  thee  in  thy  lonely,  rugged  path  ; 

Thou  must  endure  emotion's  sharpest  pang, 
While  justice  vindicates  thy  righteous  wrath. 

One  whom  thy  pleading  mercy  would  forgive, 
A  noble  youth,  of  generous  estate, 

Must  die  a  felon's  death ;  and  he  shall  live 
Who  lured  the  victim  onward  to  his  fate. 


'  Tis  just ! — crown  Andre  with  the  martyr  wreath 
That  bleached  upon  the  pallid  brow  of  Hale, 
Who  gave  to  country  all  he  could  bequeath  : 
The  moral  grandeur  of  his  dying  wail. 


Arnold !  than  Ephiates  far  more  base, — 
Touugties  are  polluted  when  thy  name  they  speak 

Thy  history  shall  the  crime  almost  efface  : 

The  treachery  of  the,  foul  and  recreant  Greek. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      33 

Slowly  shall  turn  the  lagging  wheel  of  time, 
And  years  elapse  before  thy  work  be  done ; 

And  art  thou  equal  to  the  task  sublime? 
And  hast  thou  Atlas  shoulders,  Washington  ? 


Armies  and  fleets  shall  menace ;  chiefs  have  sway, 
With  pomp  and  state  of  almost  regal  power; — 

Trained  in  the  school  of  arms,  stern  soldiers  they, 
Of  En  gland's  potency  the  prop  and  flower. 

Brunswick  and  Hesse  their  devoted  bauds 
Shall  hither  send,  exulting  in  the  chance, 

And  sell  for  slaughter.    Chiefs  of  German  lands, 
How  foul  ye  are  compared  with  princely  Prance  I 

Your  subjects  sold,  to  foreign  shambles  brought, 
For  British  gold  to  gild  your  sham  of  state ! 

O  brutes  !  for  ye  not  one  forgiving  thought, — 
Only  the  vicious  luxury  of  hate ! 

Can  history  point  a  sadder,  gloomier  sight, 
Or  pencil  paint,  from  regions  of  despair, 

A  scene  to  match  that  dark  and  dismal  night, 
With  all  thy  frozen  horrors,  Delaware  ? 

Look !  gentle  pity,  own  the  sorrow  thrill, 
As  prison  ships  their  hideous  dead  disgorge; 

Mute  feeling,  shrink,  with  sympathetic  chill, 
Before  the  winter  blasts  of  Valley  Forge  ! 

D 


34        Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 

O  country  !  blush  that  in  the  hour  of  pain, 
When  sad  events  disasters  dire  forebode. 

The  great  commander  often  pleads  in  vain 
For  soldiers  wearv  who  must  bear  thv  load. 


Think  of  those  unshod  feet  whose  tracks,  with  blood 
Ensanguine  wastes  of  sheeted  hail  and  snow, 

Braving  the  stone-bound  path,  the  ice-cold  Hood, 
In  swift  retreat  before  a  pampered  foe. 


And  dost  thou,  Congress,  listen  the  alarm, 
The  call  where  even  heroes  seem  dismayed? 

Shame  that  ye  strengthen  not  the  laboring  arm  ; 
Shame  that  dull  tongues  should  counsel  tardy  aid. 


Thou,  war-worn  chief,  the  bulwark  of  the  State, 
Must  feel  thy  soul  with  grief  and  anger  burn ; 

And  thou  must  bear  the  insolence  of  fate, 
O  hero!  till  thv  tide  to  fortune  turn. 


With  armies  wasting  like  the  April  snow, 
Scarce  fed,  scarce  clad,  defeated  and  forlorn, 

Thou  must,  in  thy  dark  hours,  their  sorrows  know, 
Brave  watchman,  faithful,  waiting  for  the  morn. 


But  Heaven  the  chart  of  fortune  shall  uuroll ; 

Already  dawnlight  greets  thine  anxious  eyes ; — 
Be  stedfast,  chieftain  ;  all  thy  doubts  control ; 

Through  vista  shades  the  path  of  promise  lies. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      35 

And  morning  comes  !  Behold  !  on  eastern  sky, 
Mirage  of  squadrons  to  the  conflict  pressed ; 

A  champion  hears  the  throttled  people's  cry, 
And  Gaul  shall  meet  the  Briton  in  the  West. 


Thou  glorious  France  !  impulsive,  generous,  just, 
True  to  the  vow  of  ancient  chivalry, 

Thy  hand  shall  raise  a  sister  from  the  dust, 
And  write  thy  name  in  light  of  liberty. 


Yet  aid  comes  not  before  the  tests  of  skill, 
The  brave  advances,  battles  ordered  well, 

Have  proved  thee,  Washington,  of  peerless  will, 
Strong  to  endure,  and  triumph  to  compel. 


And  thus  the  years  move  on — the  lagging  years, — 
Slow-lingering  comes  the  dawn  of  peaceful  days, 

As  though  meek  fortune  were  beset  by  fears, 
And  fate  were  looking  on  with  careless  gaze. 


But  not  in  vain  the  change  so  slowly  wrought : 
Faith  weaves  her  halo  on  thy  noble  brow ; 

Less  tense  and  strained  its  lines  of  anxious  thought, 
Thy  patriots,  tried,  are  dauntless  heroes  now. 

Defection,  doubt,  dismay  are  overthrown  ; 

Bending  with  joy  to  thy  supreme  command, 
The  chiefs,  accordant  all,  thy  glory  own, 

And  circle  round  thee,  guardians  of  the  laud. 


36       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


Near  and  afar  the  din  of  war  resounds, 
And  deeds  of  gallant  bravery  are  done ; 

The  foes,  retreating  still  to  narrowing  bounds, 
Xo  longer  boast  of  battles  fought  and  won. 


The  sun  of  triumph  with  refulgent  rays 

Dissolves  the  anger  clouds  that  frowned  in  vain  ; 

Eutaw  and  Yorktowu  close  the  battle  days, 
And  Britain  here  ends  her  inglorious  reign. 


WASHINGTON  RESIGNS  COMMAND  OF  THE  ARMY. 

Again  your  peals,  ye  merry  Boston  bells ! 

Smile  in  your  graves  at  Lexington,  ye  dead ! 
Mother  to  cooing  babe  the  story  tells, 

And  priests  in  prayers  the  joyful  ti  lings  spread. 


Ye  nations  of  the  East,  with  histories  old, 

Turn  to  the  West  your  eyes, — in  light  impearled, 

A  bannered  realm  of  new-born  States  behold, 
Whose  rising  stars  shall  glorify  the  world. 


Who,  living  in  the  harvest  time  of  grace, 

When  a  brave  people's  hopes  high  promise  wear, 

Has  failed  to  note  the  glow  on  every  face, 
Like  sunshine  of  the  soul  effulgent  there? 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      37 


The  tempest  rage  of  passion  passing  by, 
Leaves  the  mild  semblance  of  serener  day ; 

So  pure  the  zenith  air,  the  azure  sky, 
So  sink  the  distant  clouds  and  pass  away. 


To  thee,  O  Washington  !  a  hymn  to  thee, 
A  song  of  victory,  a  paean  grand  ! 

But  ah  !  the  harp-strings  fail  of  melody, 
Or  murmur  to  the  unaccustomed  hand. 


Great  is  the  man  who  sword  for  country  draws, 
To  sheathe  it  not  till  triumph  shall  be  won ; 

But  greater  he,  obedient  to  the  laws, 
Who  lays  it  down  when  duty  all  is  done. 


Full  many  a  chieftain,  from  victorious  field 
Returning,  flushed  with  pride,  in  war  array, 

Has  stormed  the  gates  of  "Rome  behind  his  shield, 
And  forced  the  Roman  senate  to  obey. 


Thou,  having  power  scarce  measured  or  defined, 
Didst  lay  thine  armor  at  thy  country's  feet, 

And  pass,  with  benedictions  of  mankind, 
To  calm  contentment  in  thy  loved  retreat. 


O !  happy  he  who,  weary,  putteth  by 
A  load  borne  long,  to  holy  purpose  true; 

For  him  the  meed :  "  Well  done  !"  a  triumph  high, 
More  grand  than  Roman  victor  ever  knew. 


38        Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 


FORMATION  OF  THE  FEDERAL  UNION. 

Rest !  'tis  not  lying  down  to  sleep  and  dream, 
Or  in  oblivion  lose  the  thread  of  time ; 

Peace!  'tis  not  sailing  on  a  waveless  stream, 

Where  spicy  winds  blow  soft  from  fragrant  clime. 

Peace  !  rest !  while  work  remaiueth  to  be  done, — 

The  full  fruition  promised  to  receive ! 
As  well  bid  pause  the  coursers  of  the  sun, — 

As  well  the  ocean  billows  cease  to  heave. 


The  States  redeemed,  once  shackled  and  enslaved, 
Thrilled  into  freedom  and  an  untried  life, 

By  wisdom  must  from  anarchy  be  saved, 
And  all  the  woes  of  internecine  strife. 


If  grave  the  peril  of  the  great  campaign 

Whence  they  have  borne  aloft  the  victor's  palm, 

Not  less  important  now  the  end  to  gain  : 
To  soothe  the  public  pulse  to  peace  and  calm. 

Disjointed,  free; — each,  as  a  sovereign  power, 
Claims  independent  signature  and  seal; 

But  all  are  wise  in  the  momentous  hour, 
And  form  a  compact  for  the  common  weal. 

United,  strong; — what  man  the  choice  shall  be, 
To  give  due  weight  and  warrant  to  the  laws  ? 

What  chief  the  new  Lycurgus  ?    Who  but  he 
That  bore  the  brunt  of  war  and  won  their  cause  ? 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      39 


As  the  staunch  bark,  when  troubled  ocean  raves, 
And  clouds  tempestuous  sweep  athwart  the  sky, 

Lifts  her  broad  prow  majestic  o'er  the  waves 
Which  sweep  in  fury  i  in  potently  by, 


So  thou,  when  dangers  threaten  to  o'erwhelm, 
Dost  rise  victorious  o'er  the  troubled  scene  : 

A  new  Columbus,  master  of  the  helm, 
To  guide  to  fairer  realms  and  seas  serene. 


MOUNT  VERNON.    BY  THE  TOMB  OF  WASHING 
TON. 

Mount  Veruon!  beautiful  in  age,  we  fling 
Our  garlands,  fancy -woven,  over  thee; 

Pensive,  serene,  O  grateful  pilgrim  !  bring 
Thy  offerings  to  this  Shrine  of  Liberty ! 


With  thoughts  like  rhythmic  waves  on  moonlit  seas, 
And  reverent  footsteps  tread  this  holy  ground, 

Where,  shaded  by  these  ancient  upland  trees, 
A  hero's  ashes  rest  in  sleep  profound. 


Come  hither,  ye  who  walk  the  world's  great  stage 
With  stride  pretentious — folly's  fancy  brood ; 

Here  muse  life's  deeper  lesson,  O  ye  sage ! 
And  ye  the  pets  of  fortune's  generous  mood. 


40       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 

Nor  deem  the  measure  of  the  grace  denied, 
Ye  lowlier  reckoned  by  presumptuous  test ; 

His  memory  is  your  heritage ;  your  pride 
Should  hold  his  grandeur  as  a  rich  bequest. 


Meet  place  were  this  for  honor's  wreath  to  bloom 
For  those  who  crowns  hereditary  wear : 

To  kneel  in  reverence  by  the  simple  tomb, 
To  crave  a  blessing  and  receive  it  there. 


For  he  whose  mortal  is  encoffmed  here, 
Arose  to  height  above  imperial  state ; 

He  sought  the  simpler  course  of  life  to  steer; 
He  rode  the  tide  of  fame  supremely  great. 

Imbued  with  sterling  pride,  with  nicest  sense 
Of  others'  due,  he  only  claimed  his  right; 

He  worshiped  God  and  Liberty, — and  hence 
We  read  his  history  in  empyreal  light. 


Led  on  by  fortune  toward  Earth's  grandest  crown, 
By  wildering  paths  to  mortals  seldom  shown, 

He  reached  the  zenith  glory  of  renown 
And  triumph,  and  refused  an  offered  throne. 


II ow  like  his  soul !  how  like  a  hero's  dream, 
The  scene  sublime,  when  the  war-chiefs  arose 

And  prayed  him  to  accept  the  meed  supreme, 
And  he  rebuked  them  as  their  country's  foes. 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      41 


Kevered,  eternal  gratitude  be  thine, 
For  hope  exulting,  for  a  land  redeemed; 

Stoop  from  thy  heaven,  the  realm  of  grace  benign, 
And  see  what  soul  prophetic  never  dreamed : 

States,  bound  by  cord  indissolubly  strong, 
Yet  seeming  frail  and  weak  as  silken  strand, 

Extending  from  far  northern  hills  along 
To  rich  savannahs  in  the  sunnier  land  ; 


From  where  Atlantic's  fitful  seas  assail 
The  high,  resounding  cliffs  with  sullen  roar, 

To  where  Pacific,  fanned  by  gentler  gale, 
Lifts  the  long,  curving  billows  to  the  shore. 


And  thou  canst  find  pure  souls,  and  homes  beloved 
Far  leagues  beyond  the  ancient  boundaries  ; 

At  altars  kneel  where  late  the  bison  roved, 
And  list  the  grand  cathedral  litanies. 


APOTHEOSIS. 

Hero  immortal !  who,  the  bards  among, 
Shall,  with  fit  eulogy,  the  theme  prolong  ? 

To  worthiest  harp  the  triumph  should  be  sung, 
Thy  grand  career  the  minstrel's  thought  and  song. 


42       Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy. 

If  to  thy  honor  were  a  shaft  to  rise, 
Of  classic  grace,  beseeming  thy  renown, 

The  marble  should  invade  admiring  skies, 
And  wear  eternal  sunlight  on  its  crown. 


Leader  of  men !  in  every  mood  sublime  ! 

Thy  wisdom  taught  them  to  be  truly  free ; 
And  thus  thy  life  adown  the  stream  of  time 

Passed  on,  like  tranquil  river  to  the  sea. 


"  'Tis  well !" — thy  latest  words  when  leaving  Earth  ; 

For  death  alone  could  give  thee  greater  gain; 
And  wise  men  deem  thee,  when  they  measure  worth, 
One  of  the  few  that  have  not  lived  in  vain. 


Beloved !  revered !  what  time  the  orb  of  day 
Shall  cease  to  circle  Earth  with  path  of  flame, 

When  stars  shall  leave  the  sky  and  pass  away, 
And  Heaven's  historian  read  the  roll  of  fame, 


The  Angel  of  the  Trump,  on  pinions  spread, 
Shall  to  the  worlds  proclaim  the  great  award  : 

A  crown  of  light  auroral  for  thy  head, 
Gemmed  with  the  brightest  jewels  of  the  Lord! 


Washington — History,  Biography,  Eulogy.      43 

Mouut  Veruou  !  Washington  !    Once  more  I  press, 
With  fancy's  feet,  the  lawns  he  loved  so  well; 

Again  I  turn  the  sacred  dust  to  bless, 
And  list  the  requiem  of  the  passing-bell! 


Soft  be  the  bed  whereon  a  patriot  lies  ! 

His  memory  rich  whose  name  to  honor  moves ! 
Serenely  sleep  ye  who  have  won  the  prize ! 

Ye  rest  in  virtue  whom  the  Lord  approves ! 


44  Banquet  Poem. 


DRINK  TO  THE  BRAVE. 

Written  for  a  Birthday  Banquet  tendered  Gen.  Sheridan 
by  the  Loyal  Legion  of  Chicago,  March,  1888. 


Drink  to  the  brave !  and  let  the  wine 
Be  choicest  of  the  generous  vine 
Which,  grown  on  high  and  sunny  hills, 
The  sparkling  dew  of  heaven  distils. 
The  muse  a  laurel  wreath  shall  bring, 
And  crown  him  with  her  offering, 
While  gladdened  eyes  the  features  scan 
Of  our  beloved  Sheridan, 


Drink  to  the  brave  !  and  as  ye  pour 
The  nectar  flood,  let  thought  restore 
The  battle  days,  the  scenes  afar, 
Where  to  the  zenith  flashed  his  star. 
Honor  shall  scan  the  roll  of  fame, 
And  find  thereon  no  dearer  name 
Than  his,  who  led  the  loyal  van, 
Our  own  illustrious  Sheridan. 


Drink  to  the  brave !    As  swiftly  run 
The  years  that  drop  us,  one  by  one, 
Still  on  our  hero's  natal  day, 
Let  each  survivor  homage  pay, 
Until  the  last  shall  drink  alone, 
And  feebly  murmur,  with  his  moan, 
The  ancient  toast,  as  best  he  can : 
"  My  brave  commander,  Sheridan ! " 


Poems  of  Humor.  45 


THE    JESUITS    DREAM. 


There  are  certain  good  persons,  of  piety's  school, 

Who  regard  it  a  happy  vocation, 
To  go  forth  unto  places  where  none  but  the  cool 

Stand  the  ghost  of  a  chance  for  salvation : — 

To  the  polls,  or  to  Congress ;  to  court  or  to  camp ; 

Or  to  regions  forbidden,  unlawful ; 
Unto  wild  Indian  tribes,  where  tbe  best  is  a  scamp, 

And  the  worst  is  peculiarly  awful. 

They  will  stand  a  cremation,  slow  torture  of  law, 

Or  of  politics, — anything  fearful ; 
Sleep  with  perfect  content  on  a  bundle  of  straw, 

And  with  nothing  for  breakfast  be  cheerful. 

They  will  go  to  high  feast  that  digestion  disturbs, 
Like  tbe  innocent  lambs  to  the  slaughter, 

When  the  stomach  demands  a  plain  dinner  of  herbs, 
And  potation  of  simple  spring  water. 

They  will  sing,  at  the  stake,  joyous  anthems  of  praise, 
While  flames  their  poor  bodies  are  wreathing ; 

Bear  the  pain  without  flinching ;  delight  in  the  blaze, 
To  tormentors  their  blessings  bequeathing. 


46  Poems  of  Humor. 


I  could  never  admire  their  vocation,  their  luck, 
And  their  hearty  contempt  for  the  dollars; 

But  I  freely  confess  that  I  covet  their  pluck, 
And  their  high  reputation  as  scholars. 

I  could  not,  with  calm  nerve,  and  of  fear  not  a  trace, 
Seek  the  haunts  of  wild  imps  of  perdition ; 

I  would  sooner  permit  the  whole  pestilent  race 
Of  man-eaters  to  go  to ignition. 

These  remarks  serve  my  purpose  to  introduce  one 
Who,  not  quite  content  with  a  burning, 

Had  escaped  from  the  stake,  after  being  half  done, 
And,  repentent,  was  thither  returning. 

His  name,  at  this  moment,  I  cannot  recall ; — 

Names  always  my  memory  bother ; — 
Here's  a  list — take  your  choice — take  one  or  take  all ; 

It  was  something  commencing  with  "  Father." 

Father  Boyle,  Father  Blake,  Father  Boyd,  Father 
Burke, 

Father  Brine,  Father  Breen,  Father  Newman  j — 
Sure  a  man  can  be  father,  without  being  Turk, 

To  a  very  large  family  human. 

Father  Clay,  Father  Coyle,  Father  Craig,  Father 

Glynn, 

Father  Callighan,  Father  O'Blarney, 
Father  Clare,  Father  Clear,  Father  Duff,  Father 

Flynn, 
And  a  few  from  Kildare  and  Killarney. 

This  list  must  comprise  all  the  men  that  I  know 
Of  that  very  fine  body  of  clerics, 


Poems  of  Humor.  47 


Who,  meekly  obeying  commandment,  will  go 
Where  a  pirate  would  have  the  hysterics. 

My  friend,  introduced  in  a  stanza  above, 

With  a  somewhat  unusual  mention, 
Was  a  Jesuit,  bound  on  a  mission  of  love, 

Back  to  those  who  required  his  attention. 

His  hurts  were  all  healed,  save  a  gash  and  a  stab, 

And  a  very  large  surface  of  blister ; 
And  the  bridge  of  his  nose  was  arrayed  in  a  scab, 

From  the  scratch  of  a  vicious  young  sister. 

He  was  journeying  onward,  devouring  a  leek — 
For  with  cattle  and  fishes  he  boarded, 

When  a  tempest  approaching  compelled  him  to  seek 
A  safe  shelter  by  forest  afforded. 

Where  the  low,  trailing  tangle  lay  rotting  and  dank, 
He  could  not  make  a  pleasing  selection  ; 

But  there  lay  a  large  hollow  log  high  on  a  bank, 
And  he  into  it  crawled  for  protection. 

Such  a  chamber  as  this  only  those  can  endure, 

Who  are  used  to  a  kick  or  a  buffet ; 
But  he  found  it  a  lodging-place  dry  and  secure, 

And  he  was  contented  to  "rough-it." 

With  his  hat  for  a  pillow  he  courted  a  snooze, 

For  he  was  a- faint  and  a- weary; 
And  soon,  in  a  sort  of  ambrosial  booze, 

He  was  dreaming  of  things  bright  and  cheery. 

At  commencement  his  dream  was  not  happily  chaste, 
For  he  thought  that  a  centipede  stung  him ; 


48  Poems  of  Humor. 


That  again  to  the  stake  he  was  summoned  in  haste. 
That  a  convert  had  saved  and  then  hung-  him  ; 

That  a  chief  with  a  tomahawk  menaced  his  head; 

That  a  young  Indian  maiden  caressed  him  ; 
[Each  a  terrible  strait  for  a  priest,  it  is  said ;] 

And  also  a  nightmare  oppressed  him. 

Such  the  torture  of  soul  in  the  earlier  doze, 
When  the  flesh  was  too  palpably  present ; 

But  the  body  soon  sank  into  deeper  repose, 
And  he  dreamed  of  things  cheerful  and  pleasant : 

Of  his  chapel  afar  in  the  wilderness  rude, 
The  dear  scene  of  his  choice  and  his  labors ; 

Of  parishioners  rather  too  prone  to  intrude, 
And  to  act  as  disorderly  neighbors ; 

Of  their  late  very  sad,  disagreeable  act, 
While  he  only  was  trying  to  save  them  ; 

But  he  thought  of  their  lack  of  high  polish  and  tact, 
And  he  gladly  and  fully  forgave  them. 

Then  at  times  he  would  feel  an  unusual  twinge 
In  his  ears,  as  a  warrior  would  tear  them 

Away  from  their  tough  cartilaginous  hinge, 
And  as  handsome  war  trophies  would  wear  them. 

But  he  deemed  that  through  lack  of  a  pastime  more 
mild, 

As  enjoyment  to  this  he  was  driven ; 
That  at  worst  he  was  only  a  frolicsome  child, 

And  the  savage  was  sweetly  forgiven. 


Poems  of  Humor.  49 


And  he  laughed  ill  his  dream,  in  a  low,  quiet  way, 

At  an  incident — merely  a  trifle : 
The  great  chief,  who  was  ruefully  learning'  to  pray, 

Knocked  him  down  with  the  stock  of  his  rifle. 

His  mirth  was  called  forth,  as  he  lay  in  the  dust, 

By  the  aspect  the  ludiau  presented, 
Who  strode  haughtily  off,  venting  rage  and  disgust, 

For  the  tonsure  a  scalping  prevented. 

Thus  the  vision  extended  through  many  a  year 
Of  endeavors  that  seemed  not  to  languish ; 

For  the  star  of  high  faith  never  failed  to  appear 
When  his  body  was  writhing  with  anguish. 

Then  he  dreamed  that  his.  labors  were  happily  done  j 
That  he  gathered  his  converts  about  him, 

Led  them  up  toward  the  fair  pearly  gate,  every  one, 
For  how  could  they  find  it  without  him  ? 

They  conducted  the  march  with  decorum,  their  best, 
With  a  scalp -covered  pole  for  a  banner; 

Their  enjoyment  and  rapture  they  freely  expressed 
By  their  usual  method  and  manner. 

The  great  sagamore,  feathered  from  top-knot  to  heel, 

Sometimes,  with  emotion  ecstatic, 
Would  perform  the  war-dance,  [sort  of  wild  Indian 
reel], 

And  a  scalping -scene,  highly  dramatic. 

Every  brave  was  war -painted,  black,  yellow  and  red, 
With  as  aspect  to  daunt  a  beholder ; 


50  Poems  of  Humor. 

And  his  scalplock  was  haughtily  topping  his  head, 
Like  a  fighting- man's  chip  on  the  shoulder. 

That  the  medicine-man  with  good  glory  was  full, 
Is  a  fact  you  may  bet  both  your  eyes  on, 

For  his  head  was  adorned  with  the  horns  of  a  bull, 
And  bis  rear  with  the  tail  of  a  bison. 

Every  one,  that  no  comfort  his  sainthood  might  lack, 
By  Pope's  good  "faithful  dog"  was  attended, 

Whose  delight  was  to  skirmish  for  fleas  on  the  back, 
At  the  joint  where  the  tail  is  suspended. 

Younger    bucks  roamed  at  will,   disregarding  re 
straints, 

All  conducting  themselves  rather  queerly, 
By  tormenting  white  pilgrims,  and  lassoing  saints 

That  were  trying  to  love  them  sincerely. 

To   the    lodge  -poles    papooses    and    bandies    were 

strapped, 

And  the  lean,  toiling  ponies  conveyed  them ; — 
All  the  matrons  and  maids  in  red  blankets  were 

wrapped, 
But  the  boys  were  as  nature  arrayed  them. 

Ancient  squaws  bore  utensils   and  goods  on  their 
backs : — 

Straw  and  peltry  for  comfort  while  sleeping, 
Pots,  porringers,  frying-pans,  jerked-beef  in  packs, — 

Things  essential  in  forest  housekeeping. 

Through    the  ranks,   toned  to  gladness,    the  loud 

whoopings  rang, 
For  they  all  were  as  cheery  as  crickets : — 


Poems  of  Humor.  51 


Poor  Saint  Peter,  amazed,  and  afraid  of  the  gang, 
Passed  them  in  without  stopping  for  tickets. 

In  the  vast  golden  court  they  performed  the  corn- 

dauce, 

With  such  graceful  precision  of  motion, 
That  the   Shaker  saints  near  them  proceeded  to 

prance, 
In  their  usual  style  of  devotion. 

The  good  priest,  feeling  scandalized,  ventured   to 

chide 

Their  wild  joy,  or  at  least  such  expression ; 
But  they  seized  him   and  bore  him,  a  lodge-pole 

astride, 
At  the  head  of  their  jumping  procession. 

And  they  danced,  and  they  yelled  with  high  rapture 
and  vim, 

Raised  a  row  with  such  vigor  of  leaven, 
That  it  soon  became  evident,  even  to  him, 

That  the  tribe  had  possession  of  heaven. 

Near  the  gate  he  beheld,  in  his  troubled  repose, 
The  great  sagamore  scalping  Saint  Peter; 

Then  the  dream  was  dispelled  by  an  ant  in  his  nose, 
And  his  rest  became  calmer  and  sweeter. 


52  Poenis  of  Humor. 


THE  CANDIDATE  AND  THE  JESUIT. 


The  river  of  politics  winds  through  a  maze 
Which  at  best  has  a  hard  reputation  ; 

And  full  many  a  bark  has  been  lost  in  the  haze 
Which  attends  its  unsafe  navigation. 

An  old  yacht,  badly  ballasted,  stranded  one  day, 

In  a  wildly-tempestuous  rumpus, 
Where  the  river  was  threading  its  sinuous  way, 

And  ashore  waded  Candidate  Bumpus. 

Here,  a-weary  and  wet,  he  sat  down  on  a  log 
In  whose  hollow  a  wanderer  slumbered ; 

His  political  bark  lay,  a  wreck,  on  a  bog, 
And  his  soul  with  despair  was  encumbered. 

He  had  stemmed  the  false  tide  of  the  river  in  vain, 

Through  a  very  exciting  election ; 
And  the  long  costly  toil,  with  its  hard  mental  strain, 

Was  a  theme  for  much  dismal  reflection. 

| 

Unaware  that  of  listeners  the  place  was  not  clear, 

His  remarks  rang  out  loudly  and  clearly, 
In  Anathemas,  curses,  wild,  strong,  and  severe, 
For  he  ached  for  an  office  severely. 

Ave,  sanctissima  ! 
Pulchra  purissima  I 
Mater  sea  vobis  ; 
Mater  non  nobis. 


Poems  of  Humor.  53 

The  candidate  turned,  with  a  glance  of  dismay ; 

I  may  also  remark  with  a  stare  of  surprise : — 
By  his  side  sat  a  priest!  just  as  plain  as  the  day 

To  a  very  plain  man  with  the  plainest  of  eyes. 

"Fair  sir,"  said  the  candidate,  not  as  one  vexed, — 
But  like  one  for  a  moment  with  wonder  perplexed ; 
Or  a  preacher,  young,  nervous,  away  from  his  text. 

"Fair  sir,  it  would  seem,  by  the  cut  of  your  jib, 
By  the  cord  round  your  waist,  and  your  collar,  or  bib, 
Your  remark,  in  a  tongue  not  vernacular,  glib ; 

The  peculiarly  horrible  hat  that  you  wear, 

The  very  particular  cut  of  your  hair, 

And  your  physical  make-up,  uncommonly  spare; 

By  your  very  serene,  intellectual  face, 
That  you  are  a  pleader  retained  in  the  case 
Of  defunct  old-man  Adam's  degenerate  race. 

You  could  not  have  advanced  unaccountably  slow, 
For  I'm  sure  that  about  half  a  second  ago, — 
At  the  longest  not  more  than  a  moment  or  so, — 

This  old  log  of  your  physical  weight  was  as  free, 
As  the  very  rough  bark  of  a  very  dead  tree 
In  a  very  exposed  situation  could  be. 

To  determine  how  this  queer  result  came  about, 
Where  you  live,  as  a  general  thing,  or  hang  out, 
I  must  beg,  as  the  matter  is  clouded  by  doubt, 

That  you  kindly  accord  me  a  view  of  your  shanks, 
Which  can  play  such  unheard-of,  remarkable  pranks, 
And  a  glance  at  your  rear  elevation, — ah  !  thanks. 

Thus  the  doubt  can  be  solved  now  adrift  in  my  mind, 


54  Poems  of  Humor. 


Giving  rise  to  conjecture  the  queerest,  I  find, — 
That  is :  if  you'll  be  so  confidingly  kind. 

It  is  said  that  an  eminent  gentleman — game 

To  the  backbone,  or  common  conclusions  are  lame — 

If  you  happen,  in  speaking,  to  mention  his  name, 

Any  hour  of  the  day,  any  day  in  the  year, 

Be  he  distant  in [hemj,  or  conveniently  near, 

Will  instantly,  palpably,  plainly  appear. 

Have  no  fear  for  my  nerve ;  it  can  stand  any  shock, 
And  my  brain  is  as  hard  as  the  heart  of  a  rock ; — 
So  proceed,  if  you  please,  to  unbutton  your  frock." 

The  good  priest,  momentarily  somewhat  confused, 
Like  a  person  in  doubt  whether  praised  or  abused, 
Eeplied,  with  a  shrug  as  though  rather  amused  : 

"My  beloved [the  candidate  blushed  and  looked 

down], 

I  beseech  you  feel  not  so  uneasy  and  brown  ; 
I  am  neither  a  tramp  taking  toll  of  the  town, 

Nor  the  being  alluded  to  : — person  in  black, 
With  a  swinging  continuance  hung  at  the  back, 
And  a  foot  that  displays  a  hiatus,  or  crack. 

I  am  just  what  I  seem  :  a  poor  priest  of  the  Lord; 

Behold  here  my  rosary,  crucifix,  cord, — 

Three  things  by  the  world,  flesh  and  devil  abhorred. 

My  home  is  the  chapel ;  my  only  desire 

Is  to  rescue  the  heathen,  now  sunk  in  the  mire, 

And  to  light  in  their  souls  the  beneficent  fire. 

My  food  is  the  product  of  .valleys  and  hills ; 
My  drink  is  the  nectar  that  flows  in  the  rills, 
Which  nature  for  all  men  so  freelv  distils. 


Poems  of  Humor.  55 

All  my  riches  I  carry  in  wallet  and  scrip ; 
And  the  Devil  will  flee  when  my  fingers  I  flip. 

Thus" —  [Makes  the  sign  of  the  Cross]. 
"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  the  candidate,  "  grip. 
Thus" —  [Seizes  the  priest's  hand], 

They  shook  to  the  east  and  they  shook  to  the  west, 
Shood  hauds  near  the  forehead  and  down  by  the 

vest, 
Until  nature  demanded  cessation  and  rest. 

Why  people  clasp  hands  when  they  socially  greet 
An  acquaintance  in  house  or  abroad  in  the  street, 
Is  a  question  which  only  conjecture  can  meet. 

It  was  well  enough  once,  when  a  man  in  the  right, 
Or  the  wrong,  upon  small  provocation  would  fight, 
Who  always  went  ready  to  slaughter  on  sight. 

Hence  the  custom,  when  one  not  desiring  a  fuss, 
Met  another  not  ready  to  stir  up  a  muss, — 
And  the  habit,  unchanged,  has  descended  to  us. 

This  must  sometime  become  more  like  labor  than 

play 

To  the  President,  when  from  the  White  House  away, 
And  a  crowd  miscellaneous  homage  would  pay. 

One  has  fingers  as  cold  as  the  neck  of  a  clam  ; 
Another  a  hand  that  is  shaped  like  a  ham ; 
Some  have  palms  that  are  rough  like  the  horn  of  a 
ram. 

Wiggles  one  as  though  guiding  a  cow  by  the  tail ; 
One  pulls  as  though  pumping  her  milk  in  a  pail, 
And  another  like  pounding  out  grain  with  a  flail. 

Madam  grasps  as  though  trying  a  pippin  to  pare ; 


56  Poems  of  Humor. 

Miss  weakly,  as  having  no  vigor  to  spare ; 

Old -man  Stubb  with  a  grip  like  grab  of  a  bear. 

More  delightful  the  method  when  Chinamen  thrown 
Together,  politely  their  friendship  make  known  : 
All  clasping  their  hands  and  each  shaking  his  own. 

There  are  places,  I  grant,  where  to  practice  the 

.    game 

Were  the  best  for  awhile,  until  passions  grow  tame, 
And  men  less  predisposed  their  opponents  to  maim. 

In  Wall  Street,  for  instance,  where  bull,  on  the  sly, 
The  bear  will  salute  by  assaulting  his  eye ; — 
If  the  cock -pit  is  better  the  newspapers  lie. 

In  the  Capitol  hall, — the  great  workshop  of  jaw, — 
Or  the  scarcely  more  orderly  courts  of  the  law, 
It  were  well,  for  a  while,  to  continue  to  draw 

The  hand  from  the  hip,  and  expose  it  to  view, 
To  show  that^in  drawing,  no  weapon  one  drew, 
And  then  prove  by  a  grip  the  eye -evidence  true. 

I  beseech  you  to  pardon  me,  reader,  my  friend, 
For  digressing,— a  fault  I  shall  presently  mend, 
And  continue  my  narrative  straight  to  the  end. 

Stray  thoughts  will  at  times  get  enmeshed  in  my 

mind, 

Like  kittens,  to  frolic  and  mischief  inclined, 
In  the  yarn  which  the  mistress  is  trying  to  wind; 

And  I  cannot  proceed  with  my  orderly  train 
Of  ideas,  and  all  their  fine  bearings  explain, 
Till  I  stop  to  unsnarl,  disentangle  the  skein. 

We  left  the  old  candidate,  cured  of  his  whim, 

Or  his  fear,  with  companion — a  strange  one  for  him, 


Poems  of  Humor.  57 

And  his  thinking  machinery  ship-shape  and  trim. 

"  My  good  brother,"  said  he,  "  your  contempt  for  the 

laws 

Which  fetter  dull  spirits,  your  excellent  cause, 
Demand,  and  I  give  them  my  hearty  applause. 
Thus — [Claps  Ms  hands  slowly  and  lightly.] 

If  quite  proper  the  place,  will  you  please  to  expound 
Unto  me  your  belief,  your  desire  and  its  bound  ? 
They  will  win,  I  feel  confident,  honor  profound.'' 

"I  believe,"  said  the  priest,  "in  the  Father,  the  Son, 
Spirit,  Mary  the  mother,  immaculate  one, 
The  good  patron  of  all  who  their  duty  have  done. 

There  are  various  things  in  our  excellent  creed ; 
One  is  this :  if  to  Mary  we  turn  in  our  need, 
For  assistance,  she  then  will  for  us  intercede. 

Said  the  candidate :  "By  your  account  it  appears 
That  the  Mother  must  have  very  sensitive  ears, 
And  be  also  a  judge  of  the  articles — tears. 

My  vocation,  (pray  pardon  its  mention),  the  law, 
Has  taught  me  to  look  in  his  case  for  a  flaw, 
Who  tears  in  all  places  convenient  will  draw. 

Kow  of  those  which  are  shed  by  humanity's  eyes, 
Which  the  angels  on  hand  carry  up  to  the  skies, 
(Pray  excuse  me) — I  think  the  Madonna's  surmise 

Must  be  that  at  least  about  ninety  per  cent. 
Are  expended  with  only  the  baser  intent — 
The  remainder  by  those  who  do  sometimes  repent. 

I  am  not,  you  may  think,  quite  a  competent  judge; 
Perhaps  not.  You  perceive  that  with  elbow  I  nudge ; 
Thus —  [Nudges  the  priest,  heavily], 


58  Poems  of  Humor. 


As  expressing  (pray  pardon  vulgarity)  fudge ! 

Let  the  argument  close.  My  remarks  must  be  tame. 
Those  matters  your  thoughts  and  your  piety  claim. 
May  I  ask  whither  go  you,  and  what  is  your  aim  I r 

"  I  return  to  the  place  whence  I  recently  fled, 
Through  the  fear  of  more  torture  of  body  and  head. 
I  was  weak ;  for  the  same  many  tears  have  I  shed." 

Quoth  the  candidate :  "  Sir,  do  you  say  that  you  go, 
And  with  willingness,  back  to  a  torturing  foe  P 
Said  the  priest,  with  an  aspect  seraphic :  "  Just  so." 

"My  friend,"  said  the  candidate,  "mark  me — I  stare 

Thus ; —  [Staring  impressively], 
This  denotes  that  before  I  would  have  them  in  care, 

I  would  let  them  go 

Thus. —  [Points  downward  with  two  gestures}, 

Sir,  I  decline  to  say  where." 

"Nay — nay;"  said  the  other;  "speak  not  with  such 

haste, 

Nor  in  words  of  reproach  your  fine  energy  waste. 
In  employments  like  ours  every  man  to  his  taste." 

"  The  remark,  my  good  friend,  you  so  carefully  quote, 
I  was  forced,"  said  the  candidate,  "  lately  to  note, 
When  my  followers  shamefully  scanted  my  vote. 

Look  sharply  ; — perhaps  you  perceive  that  I  wink 

Thus. —  f  Winks  elaborately]. 
It  is  not  the  effect  of  the  wine  that  I  drink, 
But  an  effort  to  show  what  I  really  think. 

The  plain  food  that  you  gather  from  woodlands  and 

streams, 
No  doubt  to  you  rich  and  luxurious  seems, 


Poems  o/  Humor.  59 


And  produces  in  slumber  the  pleasantest  dreams. 

For  my  morning  repast,  when  from  slumber  I  wake, 
I  have  coffee,  hot  waffles,  fresh  butter  and  steak; 
I  prefer,  for  my  dinner  a  roast  or  a  bake. 

You  have  neighbors,  I  deem,  whom  you  constantly 

bless ; 

Who  endeavor,  with  gifts,  their  regard  to  express, 
When  they  come  to  your  chapel  to  pray,  or  con  less." 

The  poor  priest,  at  these  words,  heaved  a  sigh  of 

dismay, 

For  the  picture  called  up  bore  his  thoughts  far  away, 
And  he  silently  knelt  for  a  moment  to  pray. 

Then  with  tears  of  relief  he  arose  to  regain 

His  seat  on  the  log,  when  the  truth  was  made  plain, 

That  the  act  was  accomplished  with  exquisite  pain. 

A  low  moan,  yet  so  soft  that  it  seemed  like  a  sigh, 
Escaped  from  his  lips,  and  a  tear  in  his  eye 
Gave  evidence  stronger  than  words  could  supply. 

"I  beseech  you,  kind  Sir" — and  his  sad  voice  ap 
pealed 

To  the  candidate's  heart,  "  think  it  naught  that's 
revealed 

Of  my  physical  state,  for  my  wounds  are  not  healed." 

"Tour  ichat,  did  you  say?"  "I  refer  to  my  wounds, 
Where  they  burned  me."  "  They  burned  you  !  the 

infamous  hounds ! 

And  you  back  to  them  going !  Why;  hang  it,  man  ! 
Zounds ! 

What  stuff  are  you  made  of?    Oh  !  mortal  sedate, 
Do  my  features  express  the  fell  passion  of  hate 


60  Poems  of  Humor. 


Thus  ? —  [Deliberately  assumes  a  look  of  ferocity] 
Please  to  scan  them,  for  now  I  am  truly  irate." 

"  I  am  quite  overwhelmed,"  said  the  priest,  "  with 

despair, 

By  this  weak  revelation.    A  vow  I  declare 
Of  a  shirt  to  my  back,  of  stiff  bristles  and  hair." 

"I  must  also  lament,"  the  sad  candidate  said, 
"But  not  for  the  cause  that  is  bowing  your  head. 
My  regret  is  for  you,  who  appear  as  one  dead 

To  all  pleasing  sensations,  the  high  but  not  chief 
End  of  life,  which  give  happiness,  hope  and  relief, 
When  oppressed.     Will  you  please  make  a  note  of 

my  grief! 
I  give  vent  to  emotion  by  deepest  of  sighs, 

Thus;  — [Breathing  heavily]', 
The  custom,  I  think,  is  to  turn  up  the  eyes 

Thus, —  [Rolling  the  eyeballs  upward], 
To  intimate  feelings  that  will  not  arise. 

I  am  far  less  accustomed  to  things  of  this  sort, 
Than  to  murders,  thefts,  forgeries,  arsons — in  short, 
To  tough  criminal  cases,  or  actions  in  tort. 

Will  you  please  to  relate  some  particular  acts 
Of  barbarity  known — not  yet  stated  as  facts 
By  the  newspaper  men,  or  the  usual  tracts  f" 

"They  are  few,  unimportant,"  he  meekly  replied. 
"  Our  lives  in  the  priesthood  so  peacefully  glide, 
That  events  seem  but  ripples  upon  the  great  tide 

Which  ever  sets  on  toward  the  heavenly  shore. 
Which  only  the  kind  and  the  just  shall  explore, 
Where  the  troubles  of  Earth   shall  annoy  them  no 
more. 


Poems  of  Humor.  61 


Our  great  mistress  beloved — the  good  mother  of  all, 
Holy  Church,  sends  us  forth  to  redeem  from  their 

thrall, 
The  poor  children  of  Adam,  accursed  by  his  fall ; 

And  we  go  with  rejoicing  to  " here  I  lament 

The  fact  I  must  mention  the  truth  to  present 
With  precision — a  trustworthy  author's  intent, — 

That  the  candidate  nodded, — his  chin  on  his  breast, 
Like  a  turtle -fed  alderman  taking  a  rest, 
His  napkin  discarded,  unbuttoned  l}is  vest. 

I  can  not  with  propriety  say  that  he  snored  ; 
But  he  slept ;  and  that  fact  he  politely  deplored, 
For  he  said,  when  to  wakefulness  fully  restored : 

"My  friend — on — your — mind  the suspi — sion — 

may  dawn 

That  I  now have  a — slight  incli nation 

to yawn ; 

It  is  far  from polite.    I  resist. — It  is  gone. 

If  you  can,  for  the  time,  with  propriety  due, 

At  the  sermons  switch  off,  I'll  be  thankful  to  you, 

For  I  hear  them  in  church,  where  I  pay  for  my  pew. 

Some  allusion  you  made  to  your  physical  plight, — 
To  wounds  lately  received,  since  regarded  as  slight ; 
It  is  matter  on  which  I  desire  further  light. 

"They  were  nothing,  great  candidate:  chances  we 

take, 

Of  some  personal  harm  from  knife,  arrow,  or  stake. 
Who  attempt  of  barbarians  angels  to  make. 

It  was  weakness  that  forced  me  to  flight  in  my  need ; 
To  impale  me  with  lances  was  hardly  fit  meed ; 


62  Poems  of  Humor. 

But  to  pull  out  my  toe-nails  was  torture  indeed. 

When  they  " — Here  he  stopped  short ;  for  the  can 
didate  stood 

Before  him,  with  marked  and  contemptuous  mood, 
Like  a  tramp  while  rejecting  uneatable  food. 

"  My  thumb,  Sir,"  said  he,  "  at  the  point  of  my  nose 
I  now  place.  Thus —  {Makes  that  gesture] 

as  you  see,  for  suspicion  arose 
In  my  mind  by  the  mention  you  made  of  your  toes. 

I  accept,  without  question,  the  torture  by  fire ; 
Such  experience  doleful  had  many  a  sire 
Of  the  earlier  times,  or  tradition's  a  liar. 

But  your  toes  !  Make  a  note.    I  derisively  cough ; 

Thus —  [  Coughs  with  derision] 
It  is  all  that  politeness  expresses  of  scoff." 
Here  the  priest  from  one  foot  a  bandage  took  off, 

Five  members  revealing,  late  bleeding  and  raw. — 
"  Who  did  it  f "  roared  out  the  old  lion  of  law. 
Said  the  priest,  with  a  sigh  of  apology,  "  Squaw." 

The  old  candidate  bellowed :  "  My  fingers  I  clench, 
Thus —  \  Closes  fingers  of  left  hand  slowly] 

To  denote  that  I'll   try  her,  and  hang  the   [hem] 

wench, 
Thus —  [Makes  upward  gesture  from  left  ear] 

Or  I'll  browbeat  the  jury  and  maltreat  the  bench. 
Thus" —  [Strikes  forward  viciously], 

"  Nay,  friend,"  said  the  priest,  with   a  hand  on  the 

arm 

Of  his  wrathful  companion,  somewhat  in  alarm, 
Which  soothed  the  old  hero  at  once  like  a  charm ; 


Poems  of  Humor.  63 

"Nay,  friend,  judge  them  not  in  your  anger,  I  pray ; 
They   have  virtues,  I  deem,  which   will  yet  come 

in  play ; 
At  the  present  they  act  in  their  natural  way. 

In  the  future,  perhaps  when  my  body  shall  be 
Like  a  cloud  passed,  dissolved,  or  spent  wave  of  the 

sea, 
They  will  heed  the  sweet  message :   'O  come  unto 

me!'" 

The  plant  will  spring  up,  for  the  seed  has  been  sown, 
The  harvest  will  come  and  the  meadows  be  mown. 
Lo !  their  natures  already  have  kindlier  grown. — 

They  invite  me,  by  gestures,  my  steps  to  retrace ; 
Sweet  vision !  Behold !  they  their  teacher  embrace ; 
Joy  and  love  now  illume  each  intelligent  face. 

The  hands  that  once  launched  the  fell  shaft  from 

the  bow, 

Now  wield  with  dexterity  shovel  and  hoe  j 
Fair  cities  arise,  and  vast  industries  grow. 

List  the  chant  in  cathedral !  Sublimely  it  swells ! 
Now  it  mournfully  sinks  to  the  cadence  of  knells 
That  are  tolled  by  the  slow-swiuging  musical  bells. 

Lo !  a  new  State  arises !  No  jealousy  bars 

Its  advance  and  its  growth, — a  young  sister  of  stars ; 

No  cloud  hovers  o'er ;  no  adversity  mars 

The  completeness,  the  beauty.  Now  voters  elect 
A  wise  chief  as  their  ruler ;  the  base  they  reject, 
As  unworthy,  unable  to  bless  or  protect. 

Where  once  all  were  lawless,  grave  statesmen  pro 
gress 


64  Poems  of  Humor. 


In  the  making  of  laws  which  vast  wisdom  possess, 
Whose  number  no  mortal  nor  angel  can  guess. 

The  squaw  that  assailed  my  poor  toes  with   her 

knife, 

May  become  a  fine  lady, — perhaps  be  the  wife 
Of  some  eminent  chief  holding  office  for  life. 

The  papoose  that  endeavored  to  make  me  a  corse 
With   his  little  toy  tomahawk,  may,  through  re 
morse, 
Become  holy  St.  Young- mau-afraid-of-his- horse. 

The  brave  that  assaulted  my  face  like  o  beast, 
May  yet  be  a  Congressman."  Weeping,  he  ceased ; 
For  that  thought  overwhelmed  the  sad  soul  of  the 
priest. 

The  great  candidate  mused, — unto  ecstacy  rapt ; 
For  the  sketch  so  delightful  his  spirit  entrapped ; 
Then  remarked,  as  the  priest  on  the   shoulder  he 
tapped : 

"My  friend  and  companion,  behold  me;  I  smile, 

Thus —  [Makes  an  elaborate  effort  to  smile] 
With  an  aspect  evincing  no  wish  to  beguile, 
By  a  long  chalk ;  observe  :  — ,  ,  ,  


say,  the  eighth  of  a  mile. 


The  sweet  picture  you  paint,  the  events  you  des 
cribe, 

Induce  me  to  state — not  as  offer  of  bribe, — 
If  they'll  vote  me  their  chief,  I  will  govern   the 
tribe." 


Poems  of  Humor.  65 


LEGEND   OF   THE 

CASTLE  OF  THE  DRACHENFELS. 


I  fihaJl  not  offer  apology  for  divesting  this  fine  old  Legend 
of  the  sentimental  robe  which  it  has  so  long  worn,  and  ar 
raying  it,  for  a  time,  in  a  garb  of  mingled  sentiment  and 
folly.  It  probably  has  no  foundation  in  fact, — being  one 
of  those  poetic  fancies  with  which  the  imaginative  Ger 
man  mind  loves  to  invest  a  land  where  every  hill  has  its 
castle  ruin  and  every  valley  its  mysterious  dell.  I  have 
treated  the  old  baron  somewhat  roughly  ;  bnt  he  was  prob 
ably  a  brigand  chief,  like  the  most  of  those  castled  knights 
of  the  middle  ages.  The  Lady  Hildegarde  is  no  doubt  a 
mythical  person  ;  but  the  Knight  Koland  belongs  to  verita 
ble  history. 


CANTO  FIKST. 

On  the  top  of  a  very  precipitous  crag, 
Near  the  beautiful  river  Rhine, 
In  a  castle  regarded  as  fine, 
By  men  of  old  times, 
Who  had  very  few  dimes, 
(Pfennings,  kreutzers — whatever  they  call 
The  filthiest  lucre  of  all), 
Many  ages  ago, 
As  the  legends  show, 

There  lived  a  rough,  crusty  old  German  wag; 
(That  is :  if  it's  funny  to  bluster  and  brag, 

F 


66  Poems  of  Humor. 

To  dress -up  in  steel  and  bestraddle  a  nag, 
And  by  sort  of  grand  larceny  gather  in  swag, 
To  replenish  the  coffer,  the  pocket,  or  bag). 

A  baron  was  he, 

Of  uncertain  degree; 

But  a  man  it  was  quite  as  unsafe  to  rebuke ; 
As  a  viscount,  a  marquis,  an  earl,  or  a  duke, 
Or  a  monarch,  of  Earth's  very  highest  select, 
Or  a  mastiff  abroad  with  his  stub-tail  erect, 
Or  a  poodle  at  home,  unto  stranger  unkind, 
With  a  predisposition  to  bite  him  behind. 

The  old  baron's  blood  was  as  limpid  and  clear 
As  that  in  the  veins  of  a  prince,  or  a  peer, 
Or  the  haughtiest  chief  of  a  Highland  clan, 

With  kilt  and  plume  jaunty, 

Pants  absent,  or  scanty, 
Or  an  orient  sultan,  much-loving  and  lazy, 
With  ideas  on  matters  of  piety  hazy, 
And  a  general  set-up  remarkably  sleazy, 
Or  a  sagamore,  war-painted — full  black-and-tan, 
Or  a  Spanish  hidalgo,  or  any  man 

That  comes  of  a  noble  line, 

And  was  spiced  by  much  beer  and  acidulous  wine, 
Made  beside  the  above-mentioned  river,  the  Ehiue. 

The  date  of  his  birth  is  now  lost,  I  trow, 
And  the  year  of  his  death  was  so  long  ago, 
That  the  chronicles,  moth-eaten,  mouldy  and  brown, 
On  index  and  page 
Fail  to  mention  the  age 
When  he  took  his  last  drink, 
And  threw  down  the  mug, 


Poems  of  Humor.  67 


And  winked  bis  last  wink 

In  the  death -an  gel's  hug, 

As  his  spirit  went  out  and  his  body  went  down; 
And  the  devil,  I  think, 
Secured  the  wine  jug, 

To  hold  as  a  proof  of  his  claim. — to  present 
As  a  check  for  his  baggage  wherever  he  went. 

His  castle  is  crumbling  to  dust,  and  I  doubt, 
Should  you  travel  the  whole  Earth  over, 
And  interview  Christian,  or  rover, 
If  a  trace  you  could  find  of  his  gore, 

In  any  man's  veins  about, 

Whom  the  world  could  not  now  do  well  without, 
And  could  have  spared  long  before. 

I  would  not  defame  him,  long  perished  and  gone,- 
Dead  for  many  a  hundred  year, — 
For,  should  lie  on  Earth  reappear, 
And  I  happen  to  meet  him,  in  open,  or  glen, 
I  would  do,  as  I  think  would  the  bravest  of  men, 
Not  bound  by  a  knightly  vow, 
Nor  remarkably  fond  of  a  row ; 
For  in  such  an  emergence  all  honor  I'd  pawn, 
And  run  with  the  speed  of  a  frightened  fawn, 

From  the  glint  of  his  ghostly  spear. 
But  the  tale  must  be  told,  do  it  damage,  or  grace, 
For  those  castled  chiefs  were  a  turbulent  race, 
Like  most  of  the  old-time  swells, — 
As  many  a  legend  tells — 
Caring  little  for  matin  or  vesper  bells, 
For  bishop,  or  priest, 
In  service  full  blast, 


68  Poems  of  Humor. 


Or  the  freaks  of  the  beast 

From  heaven  out-cast ; 
And,  when  lance  was  in  rest, 
•  And  wrath  was  in  play, 
Full  as  bad  as  the  best, 

In  a  foray,  or  fray, 
Was  the  lord  of  the  Castle  of  Drachenfels. 

THE  CHIEFTAIN. 

On  the  pages  of  Scott  and  Macpherson, 
A  chief  is  a  very  grand  person ; 

But  could  we,  of  these  days, 

By  a  magical  spell, 
Those  old  fellows  raise, 

And  force  them  to  tell 
How  in  business  they  moved, — 

If  in  real  estate, 
What  their  title  deeds  proved, 

Giving  warrant  and  date, 
I  think  it  would  puzzle  them 
To  show  when  they  bought  any ; 
And  Satan  would  blush, 
And  tell  them  to  hush, 
Or  start  up  and  muzzle  them, 
Should  they  try  to  explain  how  they  got  any. 

THE  KNIGHT. 

When  the  minstrels  sing  of  the  "  good  old  time," 
We  love  the  tune  and  endure  the  rhyme, 
But  the  claim  is  a  canting  hypocrisy — 
Like  a  proud  but  decayed  aristocracy. 
The  phrase  is  a  humbug — a  lie  per  se, 
And  herein  do  history  and  I  agree. 


Poems  of  Humor.  69 

Perhaps  I  do  damage — perhaps  I  ought — 
To  much  that  the  novelists  say, 
In  the  general  "yarn -spinning"  way, 
When  fancy  takes  flight, 
And  they  tell  of  the  knight, 
In  his  garment  of  mail, 
With  a  troop  at  his  tail, — 

How  in  bower  he  loved,  how  in  tourney  he  fought. 
Now,  to  tell  the  sad  truth, 
Those  were  times  full  of  ruth, 
And  ravage,  and  misery  sore, 
When  men,  clad  in  steel, 
With  spur  on  the  heel, 
At  the  head  of  rude  bands 
Of  lusty  campaigners, 
Their  fighting  retainers, 
With  spears  in  their  hands, 
And  pennons,  and  banners, 
With  very  bad  manners, 
Eode  freely  the  country  o'er, — 
Especially  those 
Whose  bones  repose 

In  the  graves  by  the  Ehine's  green  shore. 
They  had  little  regard  for  the  wrong,  or  the  right ; 
They  would  revel  in  castle,  would  bluster  and  fight  j 
They  would  browbeat  and  cudgel  a  timorous  wight, 
And  would  pilfer  his  gain, — 
His  gold,  or  his  grain, 
Or  his  kine,  or  his  swine, 
Or  his  rich  red  wine, 
And  would  leer  upon  maiden  fair, 
With  her  ringleted  auburn  hair, 
And  her  full  brown  eyes  so  bright. 


70  Poems  of  Humor. 


THE  LORD. 

There  seems  to  have  been,  since  time  began, — 

At  least  since  the  dawn  of  tradition, — 
The  need  of  a  very  superior  man 
In  every  community, 
To  seize  opportunity 
To  hold  other  men  in  subjection, 
As  a  part  of  some  deep  and  mysterious  plan, — 
Or  such  is  a  fair  supposition, 
And  a  matter  for  wholesome  reflection. 

In  the  great  distribution  of  brain, 
The  strangest  conditions  exist ; 

Some  cannot  use  half  they  obtain, 
Some  make  all  they  can  of  their  grist, 
And  some  had  been  better  if  missed. 

Some  men  appear  born  for  good  luck, 
And  others  for  nought  but  disaster; 

Some  prosper  through  wisdom  and  pluck, 
And  some  need  the  lash  of  a  master, 
To  urge  them  to  trot  along  faster. 

Wh<  one  man  is  rich  and  another  man  poor ; 
Why  one  is  a  lord  and  another  a  boor ; 
One  man  is  a  saint,  and  another  a  sinner ; 
One  always  a  loser,  another  a  winner ; 
Why  one  man  should  beg,  and  another  man  give ; 
Why  the  peasant  must  toil  that  his  lord  may  live ; 
These  questions,  and  thousands  alike  them  arise, 
To  stupify  ignorance,  puzzle  the  wise ! 
Who  can  tell  why  these  strange  contrarieties! 
Of  this  mixed-lip  condition  tell  why  it  is  I 


Poems  of  Humor.  71 

Ask  nature  the  question, — 

She  blunders  and  guesses ; 
Her  every  suggestion 

But  folly  confesses. 
Ask  for  general  reasons, — 

Her  only  reply 
Is  this  :  In  their  seasons 

All  people  must  die. 
Her  processes  show 
When  time  comes  to  go 

This  life  we  must  give ; 
But  what  we  don't  know 

Is,  why  some  people  live. 
One  is  blessed ;  one  is  cursed ; 
Both  are  equally  nursed 

In  this  :  drawing  breath 
From  one  common  mother ; 
Yet  they  war  with  each  other 

Till  the  sickle  of  death 
Makes  every  man  brother. 

The  range  of  conjecture  is  wide  as  the  Earth  ; 
But  thought  and  conjecture  both  perish  at  birth. 
Light  breaks  but  to  vanish  in  darkness  of  night, 
When  we  ask  of  the  ray :  Whence  cometh  your  light  ? 
Borne  outward,  hurled  back  with  the  surge  and  the 

tide, 

Or  as  wandering  at  night  with  no  star  for  a  guide, 
One  conclusion  we  reach,  and  one  inference  draw : 
That  such  is  the  order  of  nature  and  law ; 

And  why  so 

We  don't  know. 


72  Poems  of  Humor. 


CANTO  SECOND. 
Section  I. 

HlLDEGARDE. 

And  now  for  the  story  I  wish  to  relate  ;— 
And  I  own  that  my  grief  upwells, 

When  I  think  of  her  strait, 

Of  the  sad,  sad  fate 
Of  Hildegarde,  Lady  of  Drachenfels. 

The  daughter  was  she  of  the  crusty  old  baron, 
That  terrible  wag, 
Accustomed  to  brag 
That  his  family  tree, 
Genealogically. 

Antedated  Eameses,  and  Moses  and  Aaron. 
Of  her  beauty  the  world  made  a  deal  of  account, 
And  she  pleased   all  the  wooers  that  came  to  the 
mount. 

A  prince  was  once  known — 
Of  age  and  full  grown, — 
To  offer  the  maideu  his  heart,  and  his  hand, 
And  his  diadem,  station,  and  cash  at  command.     . 
Her  answer  was  kind, 
But  his  suit  was  declined. 


Poems  of  Humor.  73 

And  kuights  in  gay  armor 

Fought  battles  to  win  her, 
Which  did  not  alarm  her, 
Nor,  as  with  some  it  would, 
Did  the  sight  of  the  blood 

Interfere  with  her  dinner. 
And  the  wisest  inquirers 

Could  never  discover 

Her  favorite  lover, 
Where  chargers  were  sped, 
And  many  a  head 
WTas  broken  among  her  admirers. 

I  warrant  she  was  a  right  beautiful  maid, 
Who,  were  she  now  living,  and  richly  arrayed 
In  corsets  and  stays, 

Silks,  ribbons  and  laces, 
In  various  ways, 

And  in  divers  odd  places, 
By  some  skillful  milliner's  hands, 
Would  rival  a  lovely  Parisian  swell, 
And  perhaps  be  as  sweet  as  a  Baltimore  belle, 
With  an  air  as  haught,  and  a  brow  as  white, 
A  spirit  as  fearless,  a  foot  as  light, 
With  faults  as  few, 
And  a  heart  as  true 
As  any  in  Worth's  fairy  robes  bedight, 
Or  any  in  German  lands. 

Her  lovers  in  number  were  many  a  score, 

A.nd  she  could  have  commanded  as  many  more, 

Had  her  list  given  out, 

Had  she  reason  to  doubt 


74  Poems  of  Humor. 


The  strength  of  the  passion  they  prated  about. 
But  her  heart  was  sealed  up  like  a  delicate  thing, — 
The  dove  in  it  nestling  ne'er  feathered  his  wing, 
The  warmth  of  her  bosom  ne'er  kindled  to  flame, 
Until  Eoland,  the  good  knight,  the  paladin  came 

To  the  castle  one  day, — 

A1  chief,  by -the- way, 

Of  might  so  renowned, 
That  a  tower,  or  a  rock, 

Would  fall  to  the  ground, 

As  though  very  unsound 
And  shaky  in  dread  of  his  shock, 

If  he  happened  around. 

THE  PALADIN. 

Sir  Roland,  of  dragons  and  giants  the  foe, — 
For  his  lance  was  their  terror,  his  curse  their  ban, 
Was  a  knight  of  the  empire  of  Charlemagne, — 
That  very  astute  and  remarkable  man, 
Who  ruled  half  of  Christendom  ages  ago ; 
Who  wrote  better  wisdom  with  sword  than  with  pen, 
Well  keeping  the  peace  among  Christian  men, 
And  I  wish  he  were  living  to  do  it  again. 

The  knight  was  abroad  on  a  tour  of  inspection, 
To  see  who  was  wrong  and  required  the  injection 
Of  steel  through  his  diaphragm,  stomach,  or  gullet, 
With  weapon  so  tempered  that  nothing  could  dull  it. 

He  was  jogging  along, 

And  humming  a  song, 

Or  perhaps  was,  in  musiug,  intending  a  journey 
To  slaughter  a  dragon,  or  tilt  in  a  tourney, 
Or  with  some  other  champion  a  bone  to  pick, 


Poems  of  Humor.  75 

And,  slightly  distraught, 
Punctuating  his  thought, 
By  giving  the  flank  of  his  charger  a  kick. 
But  nature,  neglected,  accusing, 
Aroused  the  good  knight  from  his  musing, 
Calling  loudly  for  something  to  drink  or  to  munch  on. 
Then  he  saw  the  old  castle  perched  high  on  a  crag, 
And  he  kicked  with  more  purpose  the  ribs  of  his  nag. 
Whose  midriff  was  also  beginning  to  sag, 
And  rode  up  to  ask  of  that  funny  old  wag, 
For  himself,  page,  and  charger  the  favor  of  luncheon. 

For  the  knights  had  to  drink  and  to  eat, 
Tissue,  muscle  and  bone  would  decay  so; 

They  required  their  allowance  of  meat, 
Although  the  old  tales  do  not  say  so ; 

And  sometimes  were  happy  to  greet, 
When  hungry,  a  humble  potato, 
Or  anything  else  they  could  play- to. 


Section  II. 


THE  MEETING. 

Fair  Hildegarde  should  have  been,  charmingly  pen  - 

sive, 
Gazing  down  at  the  Khine  from  her  flower-covered 

casement ; 

But  no;  as  their  science  was  nowise  extensive, 
She  was  helping  the  cookery -folk  in  the  basement. 


76  Poems  of  Humor. 


When  Koland  beheld  her  preparing  to  "  dine  him," 

The  roses  were  painting  their  pink  on  her  face ; 
And  when  she  came  forward  to  welcome  and  "  wine 
him," 

He  was  captured  at  once  by  her  beauty  and  gra«e. 
Before  he  had  tasted  a  dish  of  her  cooking, 

He  kuelt  at  her  feet  and  proceeded  to  say, 

In  the  high  sentimental  and  usual  way, 
That  she  was  a  person  extremely  fine  looking, 

And  he  would  adore  her  through  life  and-a-day. 
That  nature,  in  forming  her, 
Heaven,  in  warming  her, 

Selected  the  choicest  and  nicest  of  things ; 
That  she  was  an  angel — a  being  ethereal, — 

Who  on  Earth  had  just  folded  her  radiant  wings; 
That  nothing  so  excellent  could  be  material. 

(Here,  in  lines  parenthetical,  let  me  express 

Some  doubt  as  to  whether  the  painter  and  poet 
Are  correct  in  their  fancy, — their  beautiful  guess, — 
Highly  worthy,  if  real,  I  freely  confess, — 
As  their  verses  and  canvas  so  frequently  show  it : 
That  beings  who  come 
From  their  radiant  home, 
Through  high  ether  flying, 
And  clouds  lower  lying, 

Commissioned  to  visit  these  earthly  dominions, 
Like  birds,  on  their  shoulders  have  quill- feathered 

pinions. 
Grant  that  angels,  as  shown,  look  remarkably  sweet ; 

Still  some  matters  remain  not  peculiarly  clear : 
What  particular  use  can  they  have  for  their  feet! 
And,  having  no  tail-feathers,  how  do  they  steer  ?) 


Poems  oj  Humor.  77 


These  thoughts  as  you  please, — the  suggestions  are 

mine, 

Not  Koland's,  who  knelt  at  the  feet  of  the  maiden, 
Discharging  his  love,  like  a  cargo  of  wine, 
Spices,  tropical  fruits,  nuts,  and  everything  flue, 
From  the  hold  of  an  Indiamau  heavily  laden. 
I  think,  on  that  quite  interesting  occasion, 
That  he  paltered  no  lie  save  a  slight  reservation  ; 
That  the  eloquent  youth 
Told  nothing  but  truth, 

While  keeping  some  few  former  love-affairs  shady, — 
Like  any  man  wise  ; 

As  I  surely  would  do, 
If  near  Paradise, 

And  pleased  with  the  view, 

As  he  gazed  on  the  charms  of  that  modest  young 
lady. 

To  "bring  this  love -scene  to  a  proper  conclusion, 
Let  me  say  that,  with  some  incideutal  confusion, 
They  felt  for  each  other  the  teuderest  passion, — 
That  they  loved  and  were  loved  in  the  usual  fashion. 
That  she  bade  him  arise,  of  her  heart  the  first  winner, 
And,  with  appetites  good  they  sat  down   to  their 

dinner. 

When  she  saw  him  devouring  her  cakes  and  her  pies, 
And  read  the  "  fine  frenzy  "  that  beamed  in  his  eyes, 
Her  whole  heart  became  his.  His  was  certainly  hers 

From  the  moment  they  met ; 

And  I  willingly  bet 

Any  sum  you  desire — 

Be  it  hundred,  or  higher, — 
That  she  would  have  married  him  instantly  then. 


78  Poems  of  Humor. 

He,  I  know,  would  have  throttled  all  other  men 
That  had  dared  to  molest  him  with  any  demurs, 
To  trouble  his  wooing  with  scandals,  or  slurs, 
Or  to  cast  one  reproach  on  his  knightly  spurs. 

POSTPONED. 

I  remarked,  or  I  hinted  it,  some  lines  above, 
That  Hymen  was  willing,  consenting  was  Love ; 
That  the  wooing,  quite  brief,  had  already  transpired, 
And  the  wedding  could  take  place  as  soon  as  desired. 

Short  courtships  are  best ; 

But  some  find  a  pleasure, 
With  love  for  a  guest, 

In  viewing  their  treasure, 
Without  caring  to  use  it ; 

But  they  who  do  this, 

Are  unworthy  of  bliss, 
For  they  only  abuse  it. 

The  baron  had  given  consent, 
And  the  lovers  desired  the  event; 
The  day  had  been  fixed  for  the  wedding, 

The  bridemaids  were  nervous  with  glee, 
The  guests  were  all  thitherward  heading, 
The  priest  almost  fingered  his  fee ; 
When  luck  turned  around, 

And  refused  to  attend  them  ; 
Nor,  as  afterwards  found, 

Did  fortune  befriend  them. 

For  a  message  arrived  which  prevented  the  sport, 
Demanding  that  Eoland  should  forthwith  repair, 
With  his  very  best  speed  to  the  emperor's  court, 


Poems  of  Humor.  79 

To  join  the  crusaders  then  gathering  there. 
So  the  wedding  was  stopped,  that  Sir  Roland  might 

go 

And  slaughter  some  Paynims — a  thousand  or  so, 
That  infested  Jerusalem,  wrongly  or  rightly, 
Loved  the  beautiful  captive  and  clung  to  her  tightly. 


Section  III. 


THE  CRUSADERS. 

The  inouarchs  of  Europe,  by  solemn  convention, 
Had  of  all  brother  Christians  demanded  attention 
To  the  fact  that  the  Saracens,  dwelling  in  Ziou, 

Were  for  even  the  Hebrews  a  poor  substitution ; 
And  bishops,  in  palaces,  all  urged  the  cry  on ; 
And  priests,  in  canonicals,  spurred  the  small -fry  on; 
And  the  Pope  lent  his  aid,  in  a  long  allocution, — 
Advancing  no  cash,  but  a  large  absolution  : 
A  thing  of  some  weight 
Then  in  matters  of  state ; 
And  not  without  worth 
In  the  markets  of  Earth, 

(It  was  Tetzel  who,  later,  retailed  the  commodity,) 
And  good  with  St.  Peter,  that  testy  old  oddity. 
He  would  open  the  gate  of  heaven 
To  an  imp  from  Sat  h an  as  even, 

If  bearing  a  letter  from  Leo, — 
Perhaps  with  a  little  misgiving, 


80  Poems  of  Humor. 


And  also  a  little  low  grumbling, 
While  an  old-fashioned  homily  mumbling, — 
But  a  man  from  Madrid,  or  Ravenna, 
From  Aix-la-Cliapelle,  or  Vienna, 
Or  a  gentleman  hailing  from  Mayo, 
From  Paris,  or  Rome, 
Wheresoever  his  home, 
Would  be  welcomed  with  joy, 

If  bearing  such  ticket, 
By  that  hearty  old  boy, 

And  passed  through  the  wicket 
To  the  richest  and  best  of  fine  living. 

It  was  currently  thought 
That  grace  could  be  bought 
By  thrusting  a  lance  through  a  Paynim, 
If,  by  hook,  or  by  crook, 
Bell,  candle,  and  book, 
And  wafer  the  priest  failed  to  gain  him. 
It  was  earnestly  urged 

That  Jerusalem  hoary, 
Of  the  Islamites  purged, 

Would  arise  in  her  glory. — 
That  the  Koran  was  only  a  record  of  lies, 
Alluring  away,  not  unto  Paradise ; 
That  Mahomet  was  false,  and  his  followers  vain ; 
That  Zion,  redeemed,  would  eternally  reign, 
If  the  Moslems  were  pushed,  thrust,  cuffed,  kicked 
out,  or  slain. 

That  was  ages  ago;  before  learning  and  science, 
Through  the  Moslems  derived, 
Had  in  Europe  revived, 


Poems  of  Humor.  81 


To  promote  among  men  intellectual  aims ; 
When  monarchs  on  arms  placed  the  greater  reliance, 
With  just  enough  learning  to  mark  for  their  names. 

Sometimes  I  have  fancies  peculiar,  when  thinking 

That  Palestine  still  is  by  Islam  defended  ; 
That  pilgrims  who  bend  at  her  sacred  springs  drink 
ing, 

Must,  for  safety,  be  still  by  the  Moslem  attended  ; 
That  the  land  of  the  Saviour  by  Payuiin  is  guarded, 
Whom  Christians  with  curses  have  often  rewarded; 
That  zealots  abide 
On  the  mount  where  he  died, 
Where   poor  Hagar's  children   keep  Jacob's   from 

fighting, 
And  the  priests  of  Messiah  from  clawing  and  biting. 

lu  the  times  that  I  write  of  scant  grace  one  received, 
Who  refused  to  accept  what  the  churchmen  believed  ; 
And  Mohammedans  then  it  was  lawful  to  kill, 

Whate'er  their  degree,  were  it  low,  were  it  high; 
But  the  knights  of  the  crescent  had  vigor  and  skill ; 
Could  wield  with  high  courage  the   sword  or  the 

lance, 

Could  swiftly  retreat,  or  more  swiftly  advance 
With  wild  battle  cry, 
And  to  combat  defy 
The  flower  of  that  Christian  chivalry. 


82  Poems  of  Humor. 


Section  IV. 


THE  PARTING. 

Sad  was  Roland,  I  warrant,  his  bride  to  resign, 
And  the  other  delights  on  the  shore  of  the  Rhine  : 
Fair  Hildegarde's  cates  and  the  old  baron's  wine ; 
The  hunting,  the  hawking, 

The  tournament  gay, 
The  tender  love-talking, 
While  riding,  or  walking 

By  moonlight  away 
With  his  sweet  la  dye -love ; 
And  angels  above, 
And  beings  below 
Overheard  all  the  flow 
Of  their  tender  revealings 
With  envious  feelings. 
The  jealous  undines, 
Beholding  these  scenes, 
Made  love  to  the  young  forest  elves ; 
The  fairies  sighed  dole, 
Love -sick  in  the  soul, 
For  they  wanted  some  rapture  themselves. 

The  parting  was  tender,  as  love -parting  could  be, 
The  kissing  as  ardent  as  love-kissing  should  be. 

It  was  a  sad  day ; 

None  around  them  were  gay ; 
For  Eolaud  was  greatly  admired  by  them  all ; 


Poems  of  Humor.  83 

His  esquire  was  beloved  by  the  maids  in  the  hall, 
And  his  war-horse  content  with  his  food  in  the  stall. 
Even  the  castle  wild  riders, 

Bough  rascals  at  best, 
Sympathetic  outsiders, 

Were  sad  like  the  rest. 
The  baron,  while  pressing 
The  hand  of  the  knight, 
Gave  him  fatherly  blessing, 

And  spoke  of  the  fight, 
With  his  usual  brag, 

In  a  tone  of  delight, 

As  who,  if  the  gout  had  not  laid  him  on  shelf, 
And  his  pockets  were  not  so  depleted  of  pelf, 
Would  not  behind  lag, 
But  would  straddle  his  nag, 
And  go  as  a  merry  crusader  himself. 
The  sweet  lady  cried ;  but  as  tears  did  not  mend  it, 
She  gave  him  a  scarf,  and  she  bade  him  defend  it. 

Sir  Koland,  while  pressing  his  bride  to  his  bosom, 
Shed  tears  as  though  very  unwilling  to  lose  'em ; 
And  he  vowed  that,  if  fate  did  not  stand  in  his  way, 
He  would  come  back  to  her  in  a  year  and-a-day. 

If  slain,  he  would  meet  Ijer, 

Still  happy  to  greet  her, 
At  the  post  of  his  friend  Simon  Peter. 

Then  he  called  for  his  horse  and  his  trusty  esquire, 

And  trotted  away  to  the  court, — 
And  went  with  the  crusaders,  fame  to  acquire, 
To  rescue  Jerusalem,  sick  with  desire, 

And  get  his  full  share  of  the  sport. 


84  Poems  of  Humor. 


DULL  TIMES  AT  THE  CASTLE. 

Now  Roland,  the  knight,  has  gone  off  to  the  wars, 
To  pound  and  be  pounded,  win  honor  and  scars, 
The  knights  of  the  crescent  to  meet  and  subdue, 

To  drink  orient  nectar,  eat  dainty  gazelle, 
Or  wrestle  with  bull-beef,  if  such  he  can  chew, 

And  moisten  his  hard -tack  with  water  from  well. 

Poor  Hildegarde  sits  in  her  bed-room,  or  bower, 
Pining  daily,  I  warrant,  like  frost-stricken  flower, 
Or  one  that  the  heat  of  the  summer  has  wilted, 
Or  a  maiden  of  forty  years  recently  jilted. 
Few  amusements  has  she — no  painting  nor  drawing  ; 
No  piano  to  pound  and  no  harp  to  be  clawing; 
No  chance  to  drive  young  fancy  shop-keeper  crazy, 
And  then  trip  to  another  shop  fresh  as  a  daisy ; 
No  pledge  of  Sir  Roland's  devotion  remaining; 
No  photograph  album  his  picture  containing; 
No  neighbors  to  gossip  with — none  of  her  station, 
Except  some  rough  count  with  a  sad  reputation, 
Or  the  priest  of  the  parish,  with  dismal  salvation ; 
No  fop  of  fourscore   saying  this-thing-aud-that  to 

to  her, 

Nor  a  mother-in-law  of  her  duties  to  chat  to  her ; 
No  lovers  around  her  with  tender  attentions ; 
No  temperance  tea-parties,  women's  conventions; 
No  chance  to  indulge  in  some  innocent  folly, 
To  drive  away  blues,  or  subdue  melancholy, 
Such  as  fanciful  pictures  stage  beauties  portraying, 
Or  pieced-up  old  odds-and-ends  gaily  displaying, — 
(Crazy-quilting  is  what  they  now  term  it, — 
Making  bed-covers  fit  for  a  hermit). 


Poems  of  Humor.  85 


!No  dimfe  novel  bloody  and  frisky, 
Full  of  medium  brains  and  poor  whisky. 
Her  spluttering  caudle,  or  taper, 
Never  dripped  over  story-newspaper 
Full  of  scandals,  and  crimes, 
And  most  villianous  rhymes, 
And  a  loud  call  for  dimes 
By  the  makers  of  pill  and  of  potion, 
That  bring  about  health  by  the  notion 
Of  stirring  up  bowel  commotion  ; 
By  the  venders  of  powder  and  lotion, 
Who  assure  all  the  weak  ones  and  simple, 
That,  in  place  of  a  freckle  and  pimple, 
They  may  have  a  rose-tint  and  a  dimple. 
The  palmer  who  traveled  that  way, 
And  the  loose  knight  in  quest  of  a  fray, 
Sometimes  stopped  to  request  hospitality, 
Which  was  given  with  much  cordiality; 
They  were  welcomed  with  wine,  cake  and  honey; 
And,  as  none  of  them  had  any  money, 
They  settled  the  score 
With  drafts  on  their  lore  : 
Tales  of  fearful  encounters  narrating — 
Of  great  dragons  slain,  or  left  dying; 
Of  hypogriffs  through  the  air,  flying ; 
Of  princesses  wooed  and  still  waiting ; 
And  a  vast  deal  of  marvelous  prating  ; 
And — (I  think  they  were  given  to  lying.) 

This  was  all  very  well  for  awhile, 
The  sweet  lady's  grief  to  beguile ; 
But  news  such  as  this  will  grow  stale, 
When  one  is  in  doubt  of  the  tale. 


86  Poems  of  Humor. 


And  I  warrant  poor  Hildegarde  thought  of  her  lover 
Every  hour  of  the  day  and  the  night,  and  moreover, 
That,  weeping,  she  wailed  and  cried  "Ah !  lackaday ! 
Why  did  Sir  Eoland,  the  knight,  go  away  ?" 

Now,  since  we  don't  know 
How  Hildegarde  used  up  her  time, 

To  the  East  let  us  go, 
And  continue  our  rollicking  rhyme 
With  the  shout,  and  the  roar,  and  the  rush,  and  the 

rattle, 
As  the  Christians  and  Saracens  meet  in  the  -battle. 

Taking  horse  for  land  journey, 
And  ship  for  the  sea, 

We  will  witness  a  tourney, 

Or  battle,  may  be, 

Where  Eoland  is  slaughtering  Saracen  dogs, 
Like  a  stalwart  Chicago  man  butchering  hogs, 
Or  a  Frenchman  expert  disemboweling  frogs; — 

And  see  Roland  hustle  'em, 

See  Roland  tussle  'em, 

With  strategy  puzzle  'em, 

And  the  other  knight  champions  gallantly  bustle  'em, 
For  thy  honor  and  glory  O  captive  Jerusalem  ! 

Before  I  complete  the  next  canto, 
There  will  probably  be  some  hard  fighting , 

Or  the  muse  in  a  lone  campo  santo 

Shall  be  hidden  from  sight,  by  the  rood ! 
For,  beshrew  me !  if  I,  at  this  writing, 

Am  not  in  a  valorous  mood ! 

I  shall  take  the  best  horse  for  my  straddle, 


Poems  of  Humor.  87 


And  charge  through  the  hosts  of  Mahomet, 
And  while  hold  out  the  straps  of  the  saddle, 
You  will  not  see  me  slipping  back  from  it, 
I  am  sick  af  this  light  fiddle-faddle; 
Make  way  for  me,  then, 
A  knight  of  the  pen, 
And  a  great  intellectual  comet. 


Postscriptum. 

Behold  me  nay  good  steed  astride, 

And  cutting  a  path  through  the  foes; — 
If  I  am  unhorsed  in  my  ride, 
It  will  be  all  the  worse  for  the  foes, 
If  they  break  not  my  neck  nor  my  nose. 
If,  in  slaughtering  pagans,  my  lance 

Shall  upset  a  poor  Christian  or  two, 
Let  it  count  as  a  matter  of  chance, 
And  show  what  good  lances  will  do, 
When  trusty  the  steel, 
And  handled  with  zeal, 

By  one  who,  through  roar  and  through  rattle, 
Cares  less  for  the  cause  than  the  battle. 


88  Poems  of  Humor. 


Section  I. 


THE  BATTLE. 

Now  with  the  lightning  speed  of  thought, 

We  reach  the  land  of  Palestine, 
Where  deeds  of  battle  bravely  wrought 

Prove  to  each  foe  his  cause  divine. 
And  knightly  plumes  are  waving  high, 
Beneath  the  Orient  azure  sky, 
As  bannered  squadrons  gleam  afar, 
In  the  full  panoply  of  war. 

'  Tis  morning,  and  the  hosts  prepare 
Again  to  meet  in  combat  there. 
Behold !  the  Crescent,  flashing  bright, 
Gives  back  the  sunrays,  silver  white ; 
And  Arab  steeds  impatient  stand, 
Arch  their  proud  necks  and  spurn  the  sand. 

Behold !  the  Christian  lances  gleam, 
The  banners  wave  and  pennons  stream ; 
And,  best  of  all  their  chivalry, 
List  royal  England's  battle  cry : 
"  Charge !  for  your  honor,  good  knights,  charge ! 
Had  ever  lance  a  fairer  targe? 


Poems  of  Humor.  89 

Let  each  approve  bis  knighthood  vow, 

For  Islam  dares  your  courage  now  ! 

Down  visor ;  lay  the  lance  in  rest ; 

Where  points  our  sword,  and  gleams  our  crest, 

There  swiftly  press  your  fiery  steeds. 

And  do  this  day  your  bravest  deeds. 

Nobles  of  England !  couch  the  lance, 

And  let  our  lion  flag  advance 

Beside  the  oriflamme  of  France  ! 

Christ  smiles  where  his  battalions  ride! 

O'erwhelm  the  Payuiins,  as  the  tide 

Swift  leaping  to  our  rock -bound  shore, 

Awes  and  devours  with  rush  and  roar ! 

Charge!  Austria,  Spain,  with  courage  high; 

Charge !  France,  renowned  in  chivalry !" 

In  answering  peal  the  Moslem  host 
Gives  back  the  challenge  and  the  boast ; 
And  high  above  the  battle  shout, 
Their  royal  leader's  voice  rings  out : 
"  Charge  !  warriors  of  the  Crescent,  charge ! 
Allah  will  highest  hopes  enlarge. 
Death  were  to  you  but  lesser  loss, 
If  to  the  Crescent  bow  the  Cross. 
Lo  !  where  the  proud  invader  comes ; 
Behind  you  are  your  peaceful  homes, 
Temples  of  learning,  altar  fires, 
And  graves  of  high  and  reverend  sires. 
Charge  !  Syrian  horsemen  ;  scour  the  plain, 
And  teach  yon  rabble  baud  that  vain 
Are  those  who  strive  against  the  sword 
Drawn  by  the  servants  of  the  Lord. 
The  Prophet,  from  yon  azure  height, 


90  Poems  of  Humor. 


Shall  view,  this  day,  your  gallant  fight, 
And  open  Leaven's  high  gate  to  all 
Who  falter  not,  but  bravely  fall. 
Mark  where  the  royal  lance  I  bear, 
And  raise  our  sacred  standard  there." 

Then  the  wide  plain  and  welkin  blue 
Eang  with  the  shout  of  "  Allah -hu  !" 
And  foremost  in  the  van  was  seen 
The  crest  of  royal  Saladiu. 
And  Richard's  proudly  quartered  shield, 
Far  in  advance  upon  the  field, 
Gleamed  in  the  golden  light  of  day, 
And  led  the  Christians'  bright  array. 

THE  ONSET. 

In  heaven's  high  arch  no  clouds  appear ; 

The  breath  of  morn  is  pure  and  clear ; — 

An  instant,  then  the  glowing  sky 

Is  hid  by  dust  from  warrior's  eye, 

As  swiftly  on  the  squadrons  sweep 

In  lengthened  lines  and  masses  deep. 

Then  met  the  hosts  in  war's  wild  shocks, 

And  as  the  tempest-riven  rocks 

Are  hurled  from  heights  to  plains  below, 

Down  went  the  warriors,  foe  on  foe. 

Where  battle  rages  fiercest,  there 

The  royal  standards  wave  in  air; 

And  gleaming  swords  flash  back  the  light, 

As  princely  leaders  urge  the  fight 

With  war-cries  fierce,  exultant,  wild  ; 

And  high  the  heaps  of  dead  are  piled, 

Where  lance,  and  battle-axe,  and  mace, 


Poems  of  Humor.  91 

In  gory  lines  their  passage  trace. 

Brave  deeds  upon  that  tough  ten-  field 
Were  done  that  day,  and  many  a  shield 
That  bore  device  and  blazonry 
Of  warriors  true  of  lineage  high, 
That  in  the  morning  Hashed  afar 
A  challenge  to  £he  wrath  of  war, 
At  evening,  on  the  ensanguined  plain. 
Pierced  by  the  lance,  or  rent  in  twain, 
Lay  scarce  distinguished  from  the  slain. 
And  steeds  that  bore  their  riders  well, 
Till  steed  and  knight  together  fell, 
Sank  to  the  ground,  in  death  to  pour 
Their  baser  stream  with  noble  gore. 


The  foregoing  is  eloquent 
Language,  grandiloquent, 
Or  I  am  no  judge  of  the  article  pure ; 
If  written  by  Scott, 
My  purse  to  a  dot, 

His  fame  had  been  equally  great  and  secure. 
I  promised  to  fight  a  great  battle, 
To  make  things  prodigiously  rattle  ; 
If  I  have  not  done  it, 
Staked  talent  and  won  it, 
I  offer  my  back  for  the  wattle. 

I  but  imitate  thus  the  old  manner  of  telling 
How  the  knight  of  the  East 

And  the  knight  of  the  West, 
Each  mounted  on  beast. 
And  each  doing  his  best, 


92  Poems  of  Humor. 


Clad  in  helmet  of  steel  and  steel  breeches  and  vest, 
Met  in  conflict  with  buffeting,  swearing  and  yelling 

Like  the 

Like  Milton's  dark  spirit  forever  rebelling  ! 

One  fought  for  his  home  and  his  hope  in  Mahomet, 

The  land  of  his  birth  and  the  faith  that  he  loved ; 
The  other  for  something  as  vague  as  a  comet, 
And  with  furious  zeal  scarcely  differing  from  it, 

As  often  his  deeds  in  the  Orient  proved ; 
For,  apart  from  the  best  of  the  Christian  battalions, 

Not  one  man  in  ten  knew  for  what  he  was  fighting  ; 
And  most  of  the  host  were  but  scurvy  rapscalions, 
Whom  a  ducat  bewitched, 
And  twenty  enriched, 
Having  manners  and  linen  by  no  means  inviting. 

For  to  seek  a  clean  shirt 

In  that  beggarly  crew, 
Had  confused  the  expert, 

And  rewarded  but  few. 

When  men  strike  for  home  and  for  babies, 
There  is  always  excuse  for  the  battle ; 

But  to  fight  for  a  creed  is  like  rabies, 
Or  murrain  afflicting  the  cattle. 


This  maxim  hath  all  wisdom  told : 

Man  is  the  maker  of  his  god  ! 
For,  since  historic  ages  old, 
Since  human  feet  the  Earth  have  trod, 
The  gods  of  men 
Have  ever  been 


Poems  of  Humor.  93 


Formed,  as  are  they, 
A  thought  in  clay 
Scarce  equal  to  the  common  mold. 

Else  wherefore  war  and  bitter  strife, 

When  men  of  differing  faiths  compete, 
Even  with  the  waste  of  human  life, 
To  see  whose  god  is  most  complete  ? 
As  hope  and  light 
Dispel  the  night 
Of  old-time  ruth, 
We  learn  that  truth 
Needs  not  the  sacrificial  knife. 


Section  II. 


ROLAND  IN  BATTLE. 

Where  is  Sir  Eolaud  !    Where  is  he 
Among  that  mighty  chivalry? 
Where'er  his  mail-clad  steed  is  spurred, 
And  where  his  clarion  voice  is  heard, 
I  warrant  well  his  lance  he  bears, 
And  high  his  crested  helm  he  wears. 
True  champion  !  brave  in  battle  need, 
Foremost  in  every  knightly  deed, 
Hark  !  do  you  hear  his  shout  afar 
Ring  out  along  the  field  of  war  "I — 

"Charge  for  a  Roland! 
Knights  of  Poland, 


94  Poems  of  Humor. 


Denmark  and  Austria,  France  and  Spain ; 
Charge  for  a  Kolaud  ! 
Knight  of  no-land; 
Charge !  and  you  banner  take ; 
Charge  !  for  your  bright  lady's  sake, 
And  win  her  fair  hand  and  her  rich  domain  ! 

Where  battle's  fiercest  front  appears, 
His  charger  leads  the  glittering  spears; 
Far  as  adventurous  knights  advance, 
Still  further  points  his  gory  lance, 
His  shield  a  shining  target  high 
For  bolts  and  javelins  that  fly 
Thick  as  the  withered  leaves  in  air, 
When  storm -wind  sweeps  the  forest  bare. 
Where  gleams  his  battle-axe  o'er  all, 
The  foe  must  yield,  or  lowly  fall ; 
And  where  the  bravest  Christians  ride, 
His  voice  directs  the  onset  tide, 
Till  morn  and  noon-time  pass  away, 
And  evening  dons  her  mantle  gray. 
Yet  in  the  shock  and  rage  of  war, 
True  to  the  heart  that  throbbed  afar, 
A  mark  full  fair  as  plumed  crest, 
His  lady's  scarf  is  on  his  breast. 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

Ah  !  many  a  wife,  in  her  Syrian  tower, 
And  many  a  maid  in  her  jasmine  bower, 
Where  the  Jordan  mirrored  the  westering  sun, 
Long  wept  for  the  deeds  by  that  good  lance  done  j 


Poems  of  Humor.  95 


And  many  a  Saracen  chief,  whose  mail 

Had  weathered  the  storrn  of  that  vengeful  hail, 

By  a  sweep  of  his  flashing  blade  was  given 

Swift  passage  from  Earth  to  the  Prophet's  heaven. 

Full  many  a  waif  from  the  desert  vast, 

By  his  ponderous  mace  to  the  ground  was  cast, 

When  the  faithful  courser,  its  rider  dead, 

With  speed  of  the  wind  from  the  battle  fled 

Afar  o'er  the  drifted  sand,  wildering,  wild, 

Bearing  mute  tale  of  woe  to  the  wife  and  child 

Of  him  who  lay  silent  in  death  that  day, 

The  lord  of  their  tent  and  their  pride  and  stay. — 

For  the  bravest  and  best  of  the  Christian  van, 

Was  Sir  Eoland,  the  nephew  of  Charlemagne. 

But  where  are  the  magical  coat  of  mail, — 
Armor  of  proof  that  shall  never  fail, 
And  the  lance  that  in  combat  will  ever  prevail  ? 
Where  the  helmet  and  crest  ever  haughty  and  high, 
The  shield  that  the  foeman  shall  ever  defy, 
And  the  good  knight  that  never  shall  lowly  lie? 
Now  pray  ye,  good  Christian,  and  pray  ye  well, 
Where  Eoland,  the  knight  and  the  paladin  fell. 


THE  EETURN. 

Fain  were  I  still  to  linger  long 
Beneath  the  Orient  skies, 

And  weave  the  magic  web  of  song, 
As  fancy's  shuttle  flies, — 

With  varied  weft  depict  the  throng 
Of  warriors  brave, 


96  Poems  of  Humor. 

The  onset  wave, 

And  list  the  battle-cries. 

Fain  were  I  of  the  camp  to  tell : 

What  gallant  knight,  perchance, 
Prevailed  in  tournament,  or  fell 
Before  the  stronger  lance. 

Still  would  I  stray  o'er  desert  lone, 
Where  fitful  night-winds  wail  and  moan, 

And  sand -drifts  swell, 

In  many  a  heap, 
Like  ocean  waves  by  mighty  spell 

Wrapped  in  eternal  sleep ; 
Or  greet  the  morn  and  evening  sun 
With  gold  and  crimson  glory  rays, 
And  sing  the  Magiau  hymn  of  praise, 

Where  Jordan's  waters  run. 
And  O !  how  charmed,  with  Arab  maid 
Reclining  in  the  olive  shade, 
Where  stands  her  pitcher  by  the  spring, 
To  list  the  songs  she  loves  to  sing 

With  softest  sighs, 

Or  flashing  eyes 

Responsive  to  her  bosom's  swell, 
And  voice  and  gesture  pure  and  free, 
Of  Haroun  and  Zobeidee, 
And  tales  of  Orient  glory  tell. 
Nor  can  I  save  with  sorrow  part 
From  those  who,  strong  of  arm  and  heart, 
Strove  to  redeem,  with  lance  and  sword, 
The  heritage  of  Christ,  their  Lord. 
In  strains  poetic  would  I  gloss 
The  deeds  of  Richard,  ever  true— 


Poems  of  Humor.  97 


One  of  the  strong  ami  faithful  few 
Of  those  grand  warriors  of  the  cross, 
Who  strove,  but  hapless,  strove  in  vain, 
Or  only  won  to  lose  again. 

High  is  the  theme  and  rich  the  store  : 
Ungathered  wealth  of  native  ore. 
Still  lie  fair  jewels  in  the  dust, 
And  some,  encased  in  native  crust, 
Await  the  lapidary's  wheel : 

The  free -revolving  thought, 

The  pen  by  genius  taught 
Their  hidden  glories  to  reveal. 

But  not  for  me — 
O  !  not  for  me 
To  tell  the  tale  of  history. 
Farewell,  thou  sunny  Palestine ! 
I  leave  thee  to  thy  weal  or  woej 
Again  on  spirit  wings  I  go 
To  that  old  castle  by  the  Rhine. 


Section  III. 


THE  WAITING  BRIDE. 

On  a  battlement  lofty  the  maiden  stands, 

In  the  twilight  at  close  of  the  day, 
Gazing  off  toward  the  sky,  o'er  the  eastern  lands 

In  the  far  distance  fading  away, 


98  Poems  of  Humor. 

As  though  she  would  question  the  uight,  to  discover 

In  the  star  that  shone    • 

Low  in  heaven,  alone, 

A  sentinel  watching  and  guarding  her  lover. 
Her  tresses  unbound,  in  their  auburn  profusion, 
Fall  over  her  shoulders  to  hide  the  intrusion 
Of  star-gaze  on  white  bosom  pure  as  the  snow, 
And  she  sings,  with  a  sweet  voice  thrilling  and  low  : 

Star  of  the  twilight  sky, 

Shining  so  brightly  there, 
Is  niy  true  lover  nigh  ? 
Hears  he  my  lonely  sigh — 

Love's  tender  prayer! 
Guide  thou  his  feet  to  my  bower ; 
Tell  him  '  tis  love's  own  hour. 
Star  of  the  twilight  sky, 
Is  my  true  lover  nigh  ? 

Star  of  the  quiet  night, 
Sweet  in  this  evening  scene, 

Gaze  on  him  calmly  bright, 

Chide  him  with  tender  light 
From  heaven  serene. 

Speak  from  the  far  golden  gates : 

Tell  him  his  maiden  waits. 

Star  of  the  quiet  night, 

Chide  him  with  tender  light. 

But  only  the  night-bird  near 
Gave  heed  with  a  listening  ear, 
And  the  sigh  of  the  distant  gale, 
Response  to  her  love-lorn  wail. 


Poems  of  Rumor.  99 


Ami  long  gazed  the  maid  toward  the  east  afar, 
But  no  answer  came  back  from  the  twilight  star ; 
The  wind  o'er  its  face  a  cloud -mantle  threw, 
And  the  night  settled  down  with  its  chilling  dew. 

THE  REVEL. 

In  the  hall  was  a  scene  of  wild  revelry. 

By  the  light  of  pine  torches  and  blazing  brands  ;' 
For  the  rich  draclien-blut  was  there  flowing  free — 

That  generous  wine  of  the  castle  lauds. 
On  wainscot,  and  mantel,  and  high  on  the  wall, 

Hung  trophies  and  spoils  of  war  and  the  chase ; 

For  a  turbulent,  aye,  and  a  dauntless  race 
Were  the  rough  old  lords  of  the  drachen  hall. 
The  long,  gabled  roof  and  the  rafters  high 

Were  black  as  the  midnight  with  soot  and  grime, 
And  the  clattering  shingles  gave  views  of  the  sky, 

As  they  crumbled  and  curled  by  the  touch  of  time. 
The  wail  of  the  wind  through  the  beams  o'erhead, 

Around  hidden  recesses,  high,  wierdly  dim, 
Seemed  the  chant  for  a  dance  of  the  old-time  dead, 
And  the  shadows  of  revelers  there, 
Thrown  upward  by  flame  and  glare, 

Like  a  host  of  fantastic  goblins  grim. 

The  baron  was  roaring  a  boisterous  song, 
The  burden  of  which  was  a  very  bad  jest, 
And  his  tipsy  retainers  were  doing  their  best 
To  remember  the  chorus  and  bring  it  in  strong ; 
But  the  words  were  high  Dutch, 
And  they  were  not  such, 

And  their  heads  were  a-whirl   and  they  sang  it  all 
wrong. 


100  Poems  of  Humor. 

THE  PALMER. 

As  the  light  011  the  mountain  grew  pale, 
And  shadows  crept  over  the  vale, 
And  clouds  low-lying, 
And  white  scud  flying 

Betokened  a  night  of  extremely  bad  weather 
For  those  who  would  couch  for  repose  on  the  heather, 
There  was  seen  in  the  gloaming, 
Afar  off,  but  coming, 

A  "solitary  horseman,"  on  "Shanks  his  mare;*' — 
Long  and  loose  was  his  robe  and  unkempt  his  hair. 

The  stranger  that  came  up  the  valley  so  late, 
Advanced  till  he  stopped  by  the  castle  gate, 
And  he  proved  to  be  one  of  that  vagabond  brood 

That  roamed  about  bearing  a  palmer's  staff. 
Of  castellan  and  cottager  begging  their  food, — 

Pretending  to  search  for  a  shrine. 
They  never  in  public  a  beaker  would  quaff 

Of  brandy,  or  even  of  wine ; 
And  their  nearest  approach  to  a  generous  laugh 

Was  a  sort  of  lugubrious  whine. 
They  always  seemed  very  low -hearted  and  brown; 
But  in  private,  I  warrant,  they  winked  to  a  lass, 
Trolled  roundelays  lustily,  turned  up  the  glass, 
With  eyes  upon  heaven  as  the  wine  went  down. 

The  hour  being  past 

For  a  neighborly  call, 
Or  for  men  of  his  caste 

To  visit  the  hall, 
The  drawbride  was  up  and  the  portcullis  shut. 


Poems  oj  Humor.  101 


Most  men,  thus  belated, 

When  night  was  so  nigh, 
Would  scarcely  have  waited, 

Bnt  gone  off  to  try 

For  a  crust  and  a  bed  in  some  neighboring  hut. 
But  this  palmer,  not  one  of  the  commoner  gang, 
Was  a  minstrel,  it  seems,  as  well  as  a  rover, 
For  with  gesture  of  saint,  but  the  voice  of  a  drover, 
While  the  wail  of  the  wind  through  his  melody  rang, 
He  expressed  his  desire  in  the  song  that  he  sang. 

THE  PALMER'S  SONG. 

I  have  come  from  the  laud  where   the  crusader's 

sword, 

Flashing  back  the  fierce  stare  of  the  orient  sun, 
Holds  revel  of  death  with  the  Saracen  horde, 

As  battles  are  fought  and  the  fields  are  won ; 
From  the  land  where  the  date  palms  lowly  wave 
Over  many  a  brave  knight's  lonely  grave. 
Knightly  of  kith  and  noble  of  race, 
Let  me  in  for  the  sake  of  our  Lady  of  Grace. 

I  have  many  a  tale  of  the  tourney  to  tell, 

Where  knight  won  reward  from  his  lady  dear ; 
I  have  legends  that  charrn  like  a  magical  spell, 

And  messages  meet  for  a  maiden's  ear. 
I  crave  of  you  fare  that  befitteth  a  guest : 
A  crust  for  my  meal  and  a  couch  for  my  rest. 
Knightly  of  kith  and  noble  of  race, 
Let  me  in  for  the  sake  of  our  Lady  of  Grace. 

I  have  traveled  ah  !  many  a  wearisome  way, 

And  must  go  forth  again  at  the  coining  of  morn, 


102  Poems  of  Humor. 

To  visit  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady,  and  pray 
For  the  child  of  mortality,  lost  and  forlorn. 

The  night- wind  is  chilling,  the  storm  cometh  fast; 

Give  me  shelter.  I  pray,  from  the  pitiless  blast. 
Knightly  of  kith  and  noble  of  race, 
Let  me  in  for  the  sake  of  our  Lady  of  Grace. 

TROUBLE. 

"Ho!  warder!"  cried  out  the  old  knight,  in  a  rage, 
"  Who  the  deuce  is  it  bellowing  there  by  the  gate  f 
Go,  fetch  me  the  rascal ; — some  mischievous  page, 
I  warrant,  whose  purse  is  as  poor  as  his  pate!" 

''May  it  pleasure  my  lord,"  said  the  warder, t;  I  think 
'Tis  a  palmer  again,  who  is  bound  fora  shrine." 
"  A  palmer! "  exclaimed  the  old  chief; 
"  You  might  as  well  call  him  a  thief! 
However,  go  fetch  him;  a  cup  he  shall  drink. 
And  a  jig  he  shall  caper  to  pay  for  the  wine. 
All  the  better  he'll  pray 
For  a  little  rough  play, 
And  the  sport  of  a  German  free  liver; 
But  bid  him  prepare 
For  a  dance  on  the  air, 
If  he  tricks  it  this  side  of  the  river." 

Up  went  the  portcullis,  the  drawbridge  came  down 

With  a  creak  and  a  clang, 

A  clatter  and  bang, 
When  the  palmer,  sedately  and  slowly  advancing, 

Was  seized  by  the  warder, 

According  to  order, 
As  the  gentleman  ring-master  seizes  the  clown, 


Poems  of  Humor.  103 


When   the  steeds  in   the  circus  are  plunging  and 

pranciug. 

And  he  haled  him  along  toward  the  banqueting  hall. 
With  as  little  regard  for  his  legs, 
As  a  mule  for  a  basket  of  eggs ; 
But  a  hand  that  was  thrust  from  a  rent  in  the  w  ill 
Drew  the  palmer  away  from  his  sight 
So  quickly  that  he,  in  affright, 
And  a  state  of  extreme  consternation, 
At  such  an  amazing  salvation, 

Believed  him  devoured  by  the  night ; 
And  he  went  to  the  hall  with  his  limbs  and  his  eyes 
Expressive  of  fear  and  profouudest  surprise. 

THE  HERMIT. 

The  priest  at  the  board, 
Xot  so  drunk  as  his  lord, — 
At  least  not  so  frightfully  swearing  and  yelling, 
When  he  heard  the  strange  tale   that   the  warder 

was  telling, 

Declared  that  the  man  was  a  heavenly  stranger — 
The  ghost  of  some  very  distinguished  old  clerical 
Dead  person, — shoddy 
In  substance  of  body, 
But  in  spirit  alive, 
Who  chanced  to  arrive 

At  the  castle,  when,  being  in  very  great  danger, 
He  was  forced  to  resort  to  an  old- fashioned  miracle, 
And  had  vanished  away — had  become  atmospher 
ical  ! 

Then  he  set  down  the  cup, — 
His  revels  gave  up; 


104  Poems  of  Humor. 

And  the  priest,  from  that  day, 
Was  nevermore  gay. 

Private  lodging  he  took  on  the  mountain  side, 
In  the  cave  of  the  dragon, 

That  Seigfried,  the  knight, 
His  fearless  old  nag  on, 
One  day  as  he  chanced  up  the  mountain  to  ride, 

Had  conquered  in  fight. 
There  the  good  priest  a  hermit  became, 

Of  the  strictest  propriety  ; 
Saint — soniething-or-other  his  name  ; 

His  fine  odor  of  piety 

Was  so  strong  that  the  faithful  could  smell  it, 
From  afar  o'er  the  mountain  side. 
He  wore  for  a  shirt 
A  thick  coat  of  dirt, 

For  a  penance,  and  never  would  <k  shell  it." 
He  had  herbs  for  his  food,  and  a  skull  for  society ; 

And  after  he  died, 
He  was  classed  as  a  saint  of  the  choicest  varietv. 


Section  IV. 


The  palmer,  by  some  means,  he  never  knew  what, 

For  his  head  was  a-whirl  and  his  spirit  affrighted, 
Was  strongly  urged  on,  at  a  moderate  trot, 

Through  passages  dark, 
Where  the  toad  and  the  bat, 
And  the  old  brown  rat 
Had  many  a  lark, 


Poems  of  Humor.  105 

Till  he  came  to  a  chamber  most  brilliantly  lighted 
With  three  flaring  caudles  arranged  in  a  row 

On  a  table  beside  which  a  lady  was  sitting, 
Who  questioned  him,  while  her  sweet  face  was  aglow, 

Like  the  rose  in  the  beautiful  scarf  she  was  knit 
ting  : 

"  Your  news,  gentle  palmer,  I  pray  you  to  state  ; 

You  have  come,  as  you  say,  from  the  orient  afar ; 
Do  the  Christians  prevail  ?     What  the   fortune  or 

fate 
Of  the  princeliest  knight  that  went  forth  to  the 

war  ? 

Saw  you  Eoland,  the  paladin,  truest  and  best, 
With  the  scarf  of  his  one  lady-love  on  his  breast?" 

"  Sir  Eoland !"  the  palmer  said,  tapping  his  forehead; 
"  Sir  Eolaud,  the  paladin," — closing  his  eyes ; — 
Two  simple  old  tricks  of  the  man  with  a  poor  head, 
Who  tries  to  seem  very  important  and  wise. 

"Yes;    Eoland,"  she   answered;     Sir  Eolaud   the 

knight, 

So  splendid  in  tournament,  brave  iu  the  fight, 
Whose  bride  is  awaiting  him  somewhere,  they  say, 
Whom  he  promised  to  wed  in  a  year  and- a -day. 
Pray  summon  your  wit  man,  if  any  you  claim, 
And  tell  what  you  know,  and  why  hither  you  came." 

"  I  saw  not  Sir  Eolaud,"  the  palmer  replied, 

"  But  I  saw  one  who  told  me  another  man  said 
That  the  rumor  is  rife  in  the  land,  far  and  wide, 
That  the  paladiu  sleeps  ou  the  battlefield,  dead." 


106  Poems  of  Humor. 


The  lady  sprang  up  with  a  shriek  of  despair, 
Then  sank  in  a  swoon  to  the  rush -covered  floor; 

And  the  palmer  felt  needles  and  pins  in  his  hair, 
As  he  fled,  like  a  maniac,  out  through  the  door, 

Climbed  the  wall,  leaped  the  moat,  and  sped   down 
to  the  river, 

Plunged  in, — and  I  hope  he  will  stay  there  forever. 


Some  men  will  tell  more  than  they  know,  or  believe ; 
Not,  perhaps,  with  intent  to  mislead,  or  deceive. 
They  will  jump  to  conclusion,  unstable  at  best, 
Hear  the  half  of  a  tale  and  imagine  the  rest. 
They  will  tell  what  is  false,  until  doubt  has  gone  by, 
Or  will  question  the  truth  till  they  think  it  a  lie. 
A  condition,  a  look  is  no  hint  to  their  tact ; 
They  will  blurt  out  a  thought,  be  it  falsehood,  or  fact, 
From  a  very  loose  habit  of  thinking  aloud ; — 

So  a  donkey  will  bray, 

Any  hour — night  or  day, 

Little  caring  who  hears, — 

Have  they  sensitive  ears, 
Or  the  dullest  one  finds  in  promiscuous  crowd. 


TUMULT. 

The  barou  was  dozing, 
Half  drunk  in  his  chair ; 

His  men  were  reposing 
Here,  there,  everywhere. 

Some  lay  on  the  table, 
And  some  on  the  floor; 


Poems  of  Humor.  107 

Some  were  drunk  in  the  stable ; 

And  the  general  snore 
Was  like  trouble  at  Babel, 

With  tribes  in  a  roar. 

But  the  baron  awoke 

When  the  shriek  rang  out, 
And,  beginning  to  poke 

In  a  dazed  way  about, 
Heard  the  warder  call  "  Halt ! " 

And  the  women  cry  "  Fire  ! " 
Till  from  turret  to  vault 

The  confusion  was  dire. 

He  called  for  his  lance, 

With  a  maundering  notion 
That  something,  perchance, 

Had  raised  a  commotion ; 
Kicked  those  that  were  snoring, 

Bushed  out  from  the  hall, 
In  darkness  exploring 

Far  off  from  the  wall ; 
Seeing  nothing,  but  hearing 

A  plash  in  the  river, 
As  sank,  disappearing, 

The  palmer  forever. 

When  the  maidens  went  up  to  the  desolate  room, 

Their  lady  was  still  very  feeble  and  faint; 
Her  cheeks  bore  no  trace  of  their  former  rich  bloom, 
But  her  lips,  in  low  sighs,  uttered  many  a  plaint. 
In  their  fullness  of  love, 
They  raised  her  and  strove, 
With  sympathy  tender,  her  trouble  to  learn ; 


108  Poems  of  Humor. 


And  when  memory  came  back, 
She  cried  out :  "  Alack  ! 
Sir  Roland,  my  good  knight,  will  never  return  ! " 

And  Hildegarde  mourned  for  her  lover  departed, 
Believing  the  tale  that  his  battles  were  done, 

Till  at  last,  in  a  state  of  despair,  broken-hearted, 
She  retired  from  the  world  to  the  cell  of  a  nun. 


Section  V. 


AS    YOU   LIKE   IT. 

I  have  noticed  that  persons  peculiarly  "  got  up," 
With  brains  to  the  general  average  not  up, 
When  soul  becomes  troubled  and  life  seems  a  curse, 
Take  to  pining  and  piety,  scandal,  or  worse. 
Now  I  would  not  assert,  nor  would  have  you  infer 

That  I  think  those  who  give  themselves  up  to  the 
Lord, 

From  the  common  humanity  cutting  the  cord, 
Make  a  silly  mistake — that  they  really  err, 
For  useless  are  they  among  sensible  people, 
As  a  priest  with  poor  brains, — 
Prehistoric  remains, — 

In  a  church  with  scant  pews  but  extravagant  steeple. 
If  Heaven  will  take  and  take  care  of  them,  then 
Give  them  fair  benediction  and  hearty  Amen. 
It  may  be  the  very  best  thing  they  can  do 

To  kill  off  the  time  until  time  comes  for  dying, — 
Keeping  out  of  the  way,  from  the  general  view 


Poems  of  Humor.  101) 


Of  those  who,  more  practical,  hearty  and  true, 
Their  lives  to  a  far  higher  use  are  applying. 

I  believe  that  true  penitence  does  not  consist 

In  the  living  apart  from  our  brethren  of  Earth, 
As  th&ugh  one  had  for  fellowship  ceased  to  exist, 
And  nothing  but  prayer  had  a  positive  worth  ; 
That  worship  is  not  a  continual  dirge  ; 
That  physical  sigh  is  not  spiritual  purge ; 
That  prayer  is  not  piety,  faith  is  not  serge. 

The  above  may  not  orthodox  seem, 
Unless  you  scan  closely  the  sentence ; 

Then,  perhaps,  for  my  thought  you  may  deem 
That  I  stand  not  in  need  of  repenteuce. 

THE  KNIGHT'S  RETURN. 

But  Roland  was  living.     Alas !  and  alack  ! 
For  Hildegarde,  bound  by  religion  and  vow, 
Dead  and  lost  to  the  world  as  I  know  she  is  now  ; 

For,  though  wounded,  his  hope  and  true  heart  sent 
him  back 

For  the  bride  he  had  left  in  the  flush  of  her  charms, 
Who  had  bidden  her  youth  and  the  world  farewell, 
Who  was  now  a  meek  saint  in  a  cloister  cell, 

Whom  the  abbess  refused  to  restore  to  his  arms. 

Some  men,  so  peculiarly  placed,  would  have  said : 

"  There  are  fishes  as  good  in  the  vasty  sea ; 
If  I  may  not  with  her,  with  another  I'll  wed ;" 
But  a  lover  far  truer  and  nobler  was  he, 
For  a  castle  he  built  by  the  Rhine, 
So  near  to  that  island  shrine, 


110  Poem#  of  Humor. 


That  from  turreted  tower, 
When  he  had  a  spare  hour, 

He  could  gaze  on   the  scene  where  his  bride  was 
praying 

Among  the  sad  nuns, 
Who,  as  current  thought  runs, 
Their  credos  and  aves  forever  are  saying. 


ADVICE  TOO  LATE. 

If  I  had  been  there  to  propose, 

My  suggestion  had  been  that  the  lovers 
Meet  in  secret  at  daylight  close, 
Under  one  of  the  leafy  covers, — 
Plan  a  quiet  escape, 
And  get  out  of  the  scrape 
Before  the  next  day, 
In  that  sensible  way  ; 
Leaving  abbess,  and  church, 
And  nuns  in  the  lurch  ; 

Then  live  ever  after  as  good  people  ought  to ; 
As  good,  loving  people  have  ever  been  taught  to,- 
As  nature  has  bade  'em, 
Since  Eve,  the  wise  madam, 
Raised  Cain  with  old  Adam, 
In  the  strait  that  those  persons  were  brought  to. 

The  tale  I  have  told, 

As  the  chronicler  old, 
To  the  current  tradition  attending, 

In  a  more  direct  way, 

Gave  it  out,  but  I  pray 
Tale  may  nevermore  have  such  an  ending. 


Poems  of  Humor.  Ill 


So  lived  the  poor  lovers, — he  in  his  lone  tower, 
Indulging'  his  grief, 
Thus  finding  relief; 

She  wedded  to  heaven  in  a  mystic  relation, 
As  hoping  to  win  the  supreme  approbation, 

By  closing  her  heart  to  the  claims  of  mortality, 
Until  death  reunited  them, — flower  to  the  flower, — 
To  bloom  side  by  side  in  some  other  locality. 


THE  foregoing  carries  the  old  Legend  to  its  original 
conclusion.  It  has  been  suggested  that  to  leave  the  knight 
and  his  lovely  lady  in  situations  so  unpleasant  to  them 
selves  and  so  unsatisfactory  to  the  reader,  is  an  act  of  un- 
kindness ;  therefore  I  have,  thanks  to  the  amiable  hint, 
carried  the  Legend  forward  to  a  more  natural  termination. 
A  captious  critic  may  condemn  this,  as  taking  an  unwar 
rantable  liberty  ;  I  shall  accept  censure  meekly. 

The  solecism  in  bringing  upon  the  same  field  of  action 
certain  persons  who  lived  in  separate  times  may  be  object 
ed  to  ;  but  for  this  transgression  I  take  shelter  under  the 
generous  wing  of  SCOTT,  who  did  a  like  act  of  literary 
hardihood,  and  had  the  grace  to  make  acknowledgement. 


112  Poems  of  Humor. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 

— o — 
Section  I. 

AS    I    LIKE    IT. 

A  complaint  and  a  protest  have  coine  to  my  ears, 

Against  leaving  those  lovers  so  lonely,  unfriended. 
It  were  best,  when  one  reaches  virility's  years, — 
Say  twenty,  or  more — 
Not  less  than  a  score. — 
To  let  love  have  its  way, 
Give  emotion  fair  play, 

As  I  think  from  the  first  upon  Earth  was  intended. 
In  affairs  of  the  heart, — 

I  call  it  the  brain, — 
But  whatever  the  part, 

The  presumption  is  plain, 

That  nature  her  claims  will  not  loose  nor  forego, 
Till  we  honestly  pay  every  debt  that  we  owe. 
From  Helios  aflame, 

To  Earth's  lowest  retreat, 
Her  laws  are  the  same, 

In  gradations  complete. 
The  star  to  the  sun, 
The  moon  to  the  star, 


Poems  of  Humor.  113 


The  brook  from  the  hill, 
To  the  river  the  rill ; 
Kin  currents  will  run 
Till  they  mingle  as  one, 
Meet  they  near  or  afar. 

We  cannot  dissever 

The  part  from  the  whole ; 
The  needle  will  ever 

Be  true  to  the  pole, 
The  bee  to  his  queen, 

The  bird  to  his  mate  ; 
Love  unions  are  seen 

In  all  nature  sedate. 
John  with  Jenny  can  clean 

Best  the  platter  and  plate. 
There's  many  a  lout 
Had  been  nothing  without 
The  love  of  some  bright -eyed  Kate. 

The  legend  I  give  as  I  heard  it, 
But  I  own  that  I've  failed  thus  to  word  it ; 
In  a  general  view, 
It  may  all  be  true, 

Or  the  chronicler  feigned  or  inferred  it. 
I  have  stuck  to  his  text, 

Save  in  methods  and  means, 
Although  somewhat  perplexed 

By  the  principal  scenes ; 
For  I  feared  that  the  person  who  wrote  it, 
Would  come  from  his  grave, 
And  solemnly  rave, 
And  cudgel  me  did  I  misquote  it. 


114  Poems  of  Humor. 

The  Germans  who  live  near  the  Rhine, 

Tell  the  tale,  and  they  never  decry  it ; — 
The  legend  is  theirs,  but  the  moral  is  mine, 
And  yours,  if  you  care  to  apply  it. 

Had  I  been  the  writer, 
The  close  had  been  brighter ; 
The  lover  so  true — 
Such  lovers  are  few — 

Should  not  of  his  sweet  hope  have  been  disappointed, 
Nor  his  beautiful  bride  with  the  chrism  annointed. 
To  the  deepest  despondency  I  would   have  carried 

them, 

And  then,  to  their  high  satisfaction,  have  married 
them. 

With  the  general  leave, 

I  the  matter  will  mend ; 
Let  my  fancy  conceive 

How  the  story  should  end. 

I  will  take  up  the  tale  at  the  point  where  the  palmer 
Caused  Hildegarde's  anguish,  but  not  with  intent, 
When  he,  without  waiting  to  comfort  or  calm  her, 
Rushed  down  to  the  river  and  into  it  went ; 
When  the  deep  and  indignant  old  Rhine  did 
For  him  what  the  sea, 
As  the  "  Fathers  "  agree, 
For  the  devils  that  troubled  the  swine  did. 


Poems  of  Humor.  115 


Section  IT. 


LOVE   IN  SADNESS. 

The  poor  maiden  stands,  like  a  blighted  thing, 
Like  a  fair  flower  pierced  by  a  poison  sting, 
By  the  casement  high  in  her  lonely  tower, 

Gazing  off  down  the  cliff  toward  the  river  Ehine, 
Sad,  tearful  and  wan,  at  the  midnight  hour, 

Tasting  the  cup  of  life's  bitter  wine. 

Two  pure  twin  stars  through  a  Cloud -rift  throw 
Their  silvery  rays  on  the  waves  below. 
Where,  tossed  by  the  ripples  that  fall  and  rise, 
Like  the  restless  beat  of  a  bright  bird's  wing, 
They  gleam  like  the  myriad  glittering  eyes 

That  flash  in  a  diamond  bridal  ring. 
It  is  omen  of  promise  of  happier  lot, 
But  her  spirit  is  dark  and  she  reads  it  not. 
Thoughts,  taking  the  semblance  of  things  of  gioom, 
Seem  to  hover  around  in  her  darkened  room ; 
Then  away  they  rush,  to  the  black  night  cast ; 

Ever  coming  and  going, 

Like  storm -waves  flowing, 
Or  the  sweep  and  the  lull  of  a  tempest  blast. 

To  her  soul  comes  a  moan 

From  the  valley  so  lone, 

As  though  nature  were  saying,  with  sympathy  sore, 
O  lady!  thy  lover  will  come  nevermore  ! 
And  she  trembles,  with  quick,  wild-pulsing  fears, 
When  the  night-bird's  note  in  the  wood  she  hears, 
As  it  springs  from  the  bough,  with  a  warning  cry, 
Where  a  lonely  hind  goes  wandering  by. 


116  Poems  of  Humor. 


And  she  questions  the  night,  from  her  widowed  heart : 
Will  the  morning  return  ?  Will  the  shadow  depart  *? 
Will  sorrow  withdraw  its  envenomed  dart  ? 

Thus  many  a  night  shall  she  pine  and  grieve, 
And  many  dark  thoughts  shall  her  fancy  weave, 
And  many  a  friend  shall  with  tenderness  seek 
To  bring  back  the  rose  to  that  blanching  cheek. 
And  many  a  free  knight  shall  ride  that  way, 

But  not  the  good  knight  of  her  heart  the  lord  ; 
And  many  a  troubadour  thither  stray, 
And  touch  the  lute  to  his  roundelay, 

Or  chant,  as  he  sweeps  the  bolder  chord, 
The  tale — ah  !  sad  are  the  tales  that  tell, 
How  the  knights  of  the  Christian  legions  fell, 
And  the  moan  of  death, 
And  the  parting  breath 
Came  heavily  forth  through  the  visor  bars, 
Where  lances  went  down  like  the  setting  stars. 


Section  III. 


NONENWERTH. 

In  the  river  Rhine  is  an  island  fair, 

Like  an  emerald  floating  by  magical  spell ; 
And  the  nuns  of  Xouenwerth  worship  there, 

Or  they  did,  we  are  told, 

In  that  good  time  old, 
When  Roland  and  Hildegarde  loved  so  well. 


Poems  of  Rumor.  1.17 


The  island  is  bowerecl  by  flowering  trees, 

That  bend  in  protection  o'er  lilies  and  roses, 
And  is  kissed,  as  a  bride,  by  the   brisk  morning 
breeze, 

Or  fanned  by  cool  zephyrs  when  daylight  reposes. 
The  walls  of  a  convent  rise  shapely  and  white, 

Above  the  rich  masses  of  foliage  green ; 
And  where  the  boughs  open  soft  patches  of  light 

Give  a  grace  and  a  charm  to  the  beautiful  scene. 

Thither  often  the  eyes  of  the  lone  maiden  turned, 

As  her  soul  for  its  solitude  piously  yearned ; 

And  hope  gave  its  promise,  as  thought  grew  apace, 

That  nothing  on  Earth  could  be  more  complete, 
For  a  soul  that  in  nature  no  comfort  could  trace, 

Than  the  sacred  repose  of  that  quiet  retreat. 

WHAT  THE  BARON  THOUGHT. 

She  mentioned  the  matter  one  day  to  the  baron, 
Who  at  once  became  angry  and  raved  like  a  mad 
man  ; 

Which  proves  that  a  long  dissipation  will  wear  on 
The  best  man  alive  till  it  make  him  a  bad  man. 
He  called  her  a  fool, — 

Which  was  probably  true, — 
Said  he  could  not  keep  cool 

With  such  folly  in  view. 
He  said  'twas  unwise 

From  the  world  to  retire, 
To  waste  upon  sighs 
Every  holy  desire. 
In  a  general  way  he  declared  that  to  shut  up 


118  Poems  of  Humor. 


Oneself  as  though  dead, 

Was  a  crime  and  a  sin ; 
Not  thus  daily  bread 

Could  one  honestly  win  ; 
That  he  felt  in  his  old  age  confoundedly  cut  up. 

WHAT  I  THINK. 

Now  I  think  that  when  tempests  of  sorrow  prevail, 
We  should  not  let  them  hope  and  ambition  o'er- 

whelm ; 

But  should  meet  them  with  fortitude  high, 
And  boldly  their  terrors  defy ; 
Like  the  seaman,  who,  when  in  the  grasp  of  the  gale, 
Calls  the  watch  to  their  places : 
Clew -garnets  and  braces, 

Bunts,  yard-arms,  reef-tackle,  and  shortens  the  sail, 
And  puts  the  best  man  in  the  ship  at  the  helm. 

Thus  relieved,  see  how  well  his  good  vessel  behaves  : 
She  careens  to  the  tempest,  which   nothing  can 
stay, 

And,  instead  of  resisting,  rides  over  the  waves, 
Which  sweep  off  to  leeward,  defeated,  away. 

I  admit  that  a  ship  is  a  different  thing 

From  a  woman,  except  in  some  matters  and  ways : 
Such  as  topsails,  to'-gallant-sails,  sky-sails  and  span 
ker, 
And  in  this:   that,   unless  you   watch   closely    her 

swing. 

She  is  sure  to  fall  off  the  true  course,  or  miss  stays, 
When  another  craft,  on  the  wind,  tries  to  out-rank 
her. 


Poems  of  Humor.  119 

Perhaps  I  may  add,  with  propriety,  here : 
In  a  storm  it  is  difficult  either  to  steer. 

The  desire  of  the  maiden  was  caused  by  her  trouble ; 
But  I  think  that  she  took  the  wrong  course  for  a 
cure; 

For  sorrow,  when  nursed, 
Is  but  comfort  reversed : 

Like  a  pain,  slight  in  youth,  but  in  age  become  double, 
Which  time  has  but  made  us  content  to  endure. 


Section  IV. 


CLOISTERS. 

What  the  nuns  do  in  cloisters  I  care  not  to  know ; 
But  I  think  they  scarce  realize  "•  heaven  below," 
Unless  they  imagine  that  heaven  must  be 
A  place  where  no  mortal  from  worry  is  free. 
The  lives  that  are  lived  by  those  brides  of  the  Lord, 
That  sometimes  will  timidly  venture  abroad, 
With  hats  of  the  oddest,  serge,  crucifix,  cord, 
The  folds  of  a  napkin  enclosing  the  hair, 
And  with  faces  expressive  of  nought  but  despair, 
Confuse  and  confound  me  with  wonder  and  doubt, 
As  I  gaze  at  the  poor  souls  slow  moving  about, 
Like  corpses  revivified— just  from  the  tomb, 
Indued  with  all  life  except  vigor  and  bloom. 

Does  Heaven  demand  a  condition  so  sad  ? 
Are  the  comforts  of  Earth  so  unspeakably  bad, 


120  Poems  of  Humor. 

That  a  laugh  is  unholy ;  that  joy  is  a  sin, 

And  love  an  emotion  impure  I 
Shall  abjectness  alone  future  happiness  win  ? 

Woe  eternal  contentment  secure  ? 

A  life  spent  in  praying  is  life  spent  in  vain ; 

Good  deed  is  at  most  but  a  rarity ; 
For  this  sort  of  worship  I  cannot  refrain 

From  commending  the  Sister  of  Charity. 

I  grant  that  to  pray  is  to  do  very  well ; 

But  to  do  nothing  else  is  to  do  very  ill, 
For  weak  is  the  wisdom  of  those  who  rebel 
Against  nature,  whose  working  we  cannot  compel, 

Unless  human  effort  shall  second  the  will. 

We  read  that  an  old  prophet  prayed  where  a  hatchet 
Was  sunk  in  the  Jordan,  by  dropping; 

That  it  floated  at  once,  for  the  workman  to  catch  it 
A  go  on  again  with  the  chopping. 

But  the  good  prophets  long  ago  ceased  to  exist ; 

Kow-a-days,  if  a  man  would  be  thriving, 
Should  the  hatchet  he  uses  thus  part  from  his  fist, 

He  could  get  it  the  quickest  by  diving. 

Life's  lessons  and  all  its  great  unities  prove 
That  those  who  to  heaven  would  rise, 

With  nature's  high  law  should  in  harmony  move, 
For  only  the  happy  are  wise. 

To  search  for  the  truth  and  pursue  it, 
To  strive  in  the  great  field  of  labor, 

Is  to  do  what  is  right,  as  I  view  it, 
P'or  we  thus  honor  God  and  our  neighbor. 


Poems  of  Humor.  121 


To  live  but  for  self, 

Merely  praying  for  others, 
And  to  put  on  the  shelf 

Plain  duty  to  brothers, 
Is  a  very  slow  way 

Good  treasures  to  lay  up 
Against  the  great  day, 
When  mortals,  they  say, 

All  debits  must  pay  up. 

This  free  world  was  made  for  free  people  to  live  in, 
To  possess  and  enjoy  in  life's  brief,  busy  season ; 

And  till  nature  shall  give  out  no  person  should  give  in 
To  what  may  be  conquered  by  effort- and  reason. 

These  thoughts  do  not  blink ; 

Adopt  or  reject; 
Some  surely  must  think 

They  are  good  and  correct. 

I-  confess  it  is  somewhat  ungracious  to  set  up 
My  meat  against  fish  on  another  man's  platter; 

But  when  trouble  assails  me,  my  way  is  to  get  up 
And  learn,  if  I  can,  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter. 


122  Poems  of  Humor. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


Section  I. 


TAKING  THE  VEIL. 

Why  toll  the  convent  bells  ? 

And  why  are  the  censers  swinging  ? 
Never  with  funeral  knells 

Are  the  nuns  so  sweetly  singing. 
Is  it  the  matin  hour  ? 

Is  that  the  vesper  chiuie  ? 
No ;  for  the  shadows  of  tower 
And  tree  that  fall 
Near  the  convent  wall, 
Mark  only  the  midday  time. 
And  why  are  the  stoled  priest 

And  the  bishop  in  vestments  there? 
It  is  not  a,  day  of  feast, 

Nor  of  fast,  with  its  solemn  prayer. 

Why  gather  the  crowds  at  the  open  gate? 

Why  kneel  on  the  cold  stone  floor  ? 
And  who  is  the  pilgrim  that  coineth  so  late — 

So  late  to  the  convent  door  ? 


Poems  oj  Humor.  123 

Why  wanders  his  gaze  from  the  islaud  away 

To  the  castle  against  the  blue  sky  ? 
Why  hides  he  his  face  from  the  light  of  the  day  ? 

And  wherefore  that  low,  low  sigh  ? 

But  the  bells  are  ringing, 
The  censers  are  swinging, 
And  the  kneeling  crowd, 
With  heads  low  bowed, 
In  whispers  pray 
For  one  not  dying, 
Xor  lowly  lying, 
Yet  passing  away. 

A  mournful  procession  is  winding  down 
From  the  castle  down  to  the  river ; 
For  Hildegarde  now, 
With  a  cloister  vow, 

Her  love,  her  devotion  to  Roland  will  crown, 
By  leaving  the  world  forever ! 
The  great,  open  world  forever  ! 

She  pauses  to  think, 
At  the  river's  brink, 

For  a  moment  to  think  of  her  young  life  ending, 
And  the  loved  who  her  steps  are  so  sadly  attending ; 
Then,  waving  adieu 
To  the  sorrowing  few 

Around  her,  she  sails  for  that  island  shrine, 
To  finish  the  cup  of  life's  bitter  wine  : 
And  the  boatmen  strong, 
As  they  waft  her  along, 
Keep  time  to  her  sighs  as  their  oars  are  bending. 


124  Poems  of  Humor. 

Now  the  river  is  passed, 

And  she  gives  one  last, 
Last  gaze  ou  her  home  so  fair ; 

Then,  raising  her  eyes 

Toward  the  pitiless  skies, 
She  clasps  her  cold  hands  in  prayer. 

But  no  message  of  love, 

From  the  realm  above, 
Bids  her  sorrow  and  sighing  depart ; 

And  she  passes  along 

Through  the  kneeling  throng, 
With  a  widowed  and  breaking  heart. 

Why  still  by  the  door  does  that  pilgrim  stand? 

Why  stands  the  lone  pilgrim  there  ? 
And  why,  when  his  sombre  robe  touches  her  hand, 

Does  she  start  like  a  frightened  hare? 

But  the  censers  swing, 
And  the  veiled  nuns  sing, 
As  on  toward  the  chancel  they  lead  her  slowly ; 
To  the  bishop  she  bends,  as  a  lily  pale, 
And  then,  with  a  sigh,  as  her  love's  last  wail, 
She  kneels  on  the  ground  by  the  altar,  lowly. 

Her  beautiful  head, 

While  the  mass  is  said, 
Is  bent  toward  the  jeweled  shrine  olden; 

And  her  ringlets,  unbound, 

Fall  her  shoulders  around, 
In  soft  masses  wavy  and  golden. 

Now  the  chants  are  done, 
And  she  timidly  glances 


Poems  of  Humor.  125 


Where  a  sad-eyed  nun 

With  the  abbess  advances, 
The  curls  from  her  bended  head  to  sever, — 
The  curls  which  her  lover  had  pressed  ! 
The  curls  which  his  lips  had  caressed ! 
And  the  bishop  has  asked — Does  she  truly  consent 
To  give  up  the  world  with  its  care  and  content, — 

The  free,  bright  world  forever ! 
And  thought,  for  a  moment,  takes  wing  and  flies 
To  the  great,  broad  Earth  and  its  sunny  skies, — 

To  the  fawn  that  up -springs 

To  her  loving  call, 
Where  the  dark  ivy  clings 

To  the  castle  wall, 
In  the  world  which  she  leaves  forever ! 

To  the  falcon  she  loves, 

So  daring  in  flight ; 
And  her  beautiful  doves 

In  their  plumage  bright, 
In  the  world  which  she  leaves  forever ! 

To  the  birds  on  the  trees 

By  the  flowing  Rhine, 
To  the  humming  of  bees 

Through  the  flowering  vine, 
In  the  world  which  she  leaves  forever ! 

To  the  joy  of  her  soul, 

In  its  pure  love-birth, 
Kith,  kindred,  the  whole 
Of  the  beautiful  Earth, 
In  the  world  which  she  leaves  forever ! 


126  Poems  of  Humor. 

O  God  !  is  it  right  thus  to  sever 

Pure  souls  from  the  free  world  forever  ? 

But  before  she  can  utter  the  fatal  word, 

The  voice  of  the  pilgrim  and  stranger  is  heard, 

Crying :  "  No  !  I  FORBID  ! " — and  with  rapid  stride 

He  passes  beyond  the  chancel  rail ; 
His  pilgrim's  garb  he  has  cast  aside, 

And  a  warrior  he  stands  in  his  shining  mail ! 

The  poor,  kneeling  girl,  when  that  voice  she  hears, 
Starts  tremblingly  up, — then,  with  eloquent  tears, 
She  springs  to  his  side ! — but  her  senses  take  flight, 
As  she  sinks  at  the  feet  of  her  faithful  knight, 
Who  raises  her,  fondly,  with  tender  embrace, 
And  gazes  with  rapturous  love  on  her  face ! 

DISTURBANCE  IN  THE  CONVENT. 

Did  you  ever,  good  reader,  throw  cudgels  and  stones 

At  a  hornet's  frail,  brown-paper  nest, 
Then  scamper  away,  almost  hearing  the  bones 

As  they  rattled  and  shook  in  your  chest  I 
If  you  have  you  can  partly  imagine  the  scene 

In  the  convent  when  Roland  appeared; — 
He,  of  all  the  assemblage,  was  somewhat  serene ; — 
The  nuns  looked  sad, 
But  were  probably  glad ; 
The  abbess  looked  mad, 
And  the  bishop  a  man  to  be  feared. 

The  knight,  with  strong  arms, 
His  fair  burden  bore, 


Poems  of  Humor.  127 

Now  richer  in  charms 

Than  ever  before, 
Away  from  the  convent's  open  door. 

They  tried  to  restrain  him, 
To  daunt  and  detain  him ; — 
The  bishop  cried :    "  Sacrilege !     sacrilege !     catch 

him ! " 

But  no  one  was  there  in  condition  to  match  him. 
"Desecration!"  the  abbess  cried;  "Stop  her!    O 

stop  her!" 

For  Roland  seemed  very  unwilling  to  drop  her. 
But  swiftly,  not  heeding 
Their  anger  or  pleading, 
He  bore  off  his  sweet  but  insensible  bride, 
And  placed  her  once  more  ,by  her  old  father's  side. 


Why  linger  to  tell 
All  that  after  befel 

In  the  convent  that  lost  the  fair  lady? 
It  was  clearly  a  case 
Calling  meekly  for  grace ; 
And  a  present  of  swine, 

Meal,  butter  and  honey, 
Some  barrels  of  wine, 

And  some  ready  money, 
Made  the  bishop  and  abbess  keep  shady. 
The  former  was  pleased ; 
The  latter,  appeased, 

Remarked  that,  considering  all  things  about  her, 
The  convent  could  better  be  managed  without  her. 


128  Poems  of  Humor. 


Section  II. 


THE  WEDDING. 

I  leave  to  the  reader's  conjecture, 

The  rapture  of  all  at  the  meeting ; — 
The  baron,  of  course,  gave  a  lecture, 
Very  brief  and  profane, 
And  entirely  in  vain, 
Supplementing  his  fatherly  greeting. 

His  remarks  were,  I  fear,  interlarded 

With  words  not  in  use  in  the  churches, — 

Words  which  nowhere  polite  are  regarded, 
As  I  learn  in  my  social  researches. 

But  anger  is  brief  when  the  heart  is 
Appealed  to  by  love's  tearful  wailing; 

And  your  testy  but  tender  old  parties 
Are  aye  better  loved  for  their  failing. 

Without  further  miscarriage, 

The  wedding  and  marriage 
Took  place  a  few  evenings  thereafter  f 

And  the  banqueting  hall 

Was  garlanded  all, 
From  threshold  and  wainscot  to  rafter. 

The  bishop  was  there, 

In  canonicals  fine ; 
In  his  mood  debonaire, 

And  in  aspect  benign. 


Poems  of  Humor.  129 

The  nuns  were  not  there 

To  sanction  the  "  crime ;" 
Very  likely  at  prayer 

They  were  "putting  in  time." 

A  princess  was  there, 

With  a  waterfall  dread, 
Manufactured  of  hair, 

At  the  back  of  the  head. 

Old  lovers  were  there, 

By  the  baron's  request ; 
They,  throughout  the  affair, 

Were  as  gay  as  the  rest. 

The  minstrel  was  there, — 

Xot  the  man  at  the  crank, 
Who  grinds  out  an  air 

With  a  twist  and  a  yauk. 

The  palmer  was  there ; — 

Not  the  fellow  that  lied ; 
His  body  was  where 

It  could  safely  abide. 

In  short,  there  was  there 

Such  a  crowd,  young  and  old, 

That  the  butler's  despair 
It  was  pain  to  behold. 

Whole  cattle  and  swine 

Were  lavishly  roasted ; 
In  barrels  of  wine 

Everybody  was  toasted. 


130  Poems  of  Humor. 

The  lordly  old  baron  presided  in  state, 
High-throned  at  the  head  of  the  hall, 

In  his  mood  and  his  bearing  serenely  sedate, 
As  he  greeted  the  guests  one  and  all. 

In  a  new  suit  of  mail,  burnished  up  very  brightly, 

His  merry  men  all  by  his  side, 
With  spear  in  his  hand,  which  he  held  very  tightly, 

He  appeared  like  a  king  in  his  pride. 

The  bride  was  arrayed  in  the  choicest  of  things, 
Like  a  bird  of  the  orient  minus  the  wings. 
All  the  hues  of  the  rainbow  were  shown  in  her  dress, 
And  some  which  no  words  can  in  measure  express. 
Her  gown  was  milk-white,  with  a  border  of  red  j 
An  orange -flower  wreath  was  arranged  on  her  head. 
Her  corsage  was  garnished  with  glass-blower  pearls, 
Among  which  hung  wavy  her  fair  golden  curls. 
Her  shoes  were  blue  kid,  having  buckles  of  gold ; 
Her  laces  were  fine,  very  dirty  and  old. 
Her  stockings  pale  yellow  and  red  stripes  displayed, 
Which  her  robe,  short   iu   front,  very   sweetly  be 
trayed. 

Her  gloves,  sixteen-buttou,  were  wonders  to  see  ; 
Her  handkerchief  bore  the  initials  "  H.  D.", 
And  was  perfumed  with  that  very  excellent  scent 
Old  Johan  Farina  had  skill  to  invent, 
Whose  only  true  shop  by  the  guides  we  are  shown, 
Everywhere  in  the  fragrant  old  town  of  Cologne. 
Her  veil  was  illusion — (by  the  good  abbess  given, 
And  a  very  fair  joke  for  a  "  daughter  of  heaven.") 
This  trosseau,  unique,  was  invented  by  Worth, — 
Man -milliner — doubtless  the  best  on  the  Earth. 


Poems  of  Humor.  131 


The  bridegroom  was  gorgeous  in  armor  of  steel, 
Which,  minus  the  helmet,  was  full  to  the  heel; 
And  he  shone,  in  the  glare  by  the  pine  torches  made, 
Like  a  burnished  steam  fire  engine  out  for  parade. 

As  they  stood  by  the  altar,  or  knelt  during  prayer, 

I  warrant  they  were  a  right  elegant  pair; 

In  the  service  their   answers  came  promptly  and 

pat  in, 
And  the  good  bishop  blessed  them   in   second-class 

Latin. 

THE  BANQUET. 

The  banquet  that  followed  was  worthy  the  sire 
Of  a  maiden  so  fair,  an  occasion  so  grand ; 

The  viands  were  all  that  the  guests  could  desire, 
And  the  wine  was  the  oldest  and  best  in  the  laud. 

The  baron  and  bishop  hobnobbed  at  the  table, — 
The  latter  distinguished  for  grace  and  for  suavity ; 

And  eaeh  appeared  anxious  to  see  which  was  able 
To  hold  the  most  wine  without  losing  his  gravity. 

The  strife  was  protracted,  for  both  were  sad  drinkers, 
Not  apt  with  the  old  Ehenish  wine  to  get  muddled; 

They  drank  till  the  other  men  closed  all  their  winkers, 
And  under  the  tables  were  cosily  cuddled; 
But  the   baron  was  floored  ere  the  bishop  was 
fuddled. 


132 


Miscellaneous  Poems. 


A  WORLD  LOST  AND  RE-DISCOVERED. 


Overwhelmed  and  buried  in  their  ocean  graves, 
Through  ages  hoary  with  unnumbered  years, 

The  dead  have  lain,  where  roll  Atlantic  waves 
Above  the  highway  of  the  hemispheres. 

Perhaps  Atlantis  linked  the  favored  East 
To  the  broad  lands  of  the  mysterious  West 

Untrod,  except  by  savage  man  and  beast, 
Beyond  the  bound  of  that  volcanic  crest ; 

And  they  who  in  some  cataclysm  sank, 

Where  not  one  vestige  of  their  work  remained, 

Bore  from  the  world  all  tokens  of  their  rank, 
And  all  the  light  from  kindlier  peoples  gained. 

They  lived  in  times  so  distant,  so  remote, 
That  we,  with  false  exactness,  must  relate, 

With  fancy's  aid  and  thought,  their  deeds  of  note, 
Their  customs,  duties,  and  their  awful  fate. 


MisceUaneom  Poents.  133 

Tradition  gives  but  vague,  uncertain  -cl»e, 
And  that  unworthy  as  the  jungle  light 

That  lures  to  death ;  for  unto  us  the  view 
Is  like  a  page  unread  of  sombre  night. 

The  dawn  that  heralded  historic  day, 
And  roused  the  orient  from  its  slumber  deep, 

Came  ages  after  they  had  passed  away, 
Whelmed,  gone,  forgotten  in  their  endless  sleep. 

As  though  adrift,  vast  continents  were  lost ; 

The  march  of  progress  ceased  on  eastern  strands, 
Where  erst  the  heralds  of  the  peoples  crossed, 

With  tardy  tidings  from  mysterious  lands. 

And  thus  they  slept.    The  western  darkness  grew, 
Dense  and  more  dense  through  waning  memory 

Of  all  traditions  that  their  fathers  knew, 
Of  realms  beyond  the  vast,  forbidding  sea. 

Age  after  age  swept  by.    Columbus  saw 
The  westward  path,  a  nation  far  away, 

As  through  mirage  of  science,  and  the  law 

Which  governed  Earth,  and  deemed  it  fair  Cathay. 

Then  launched  the  brave  adventurer  his  bark, 
Gift  of  a  queen  ;  then  trimmed  the  swelling  sails, 

And  led  his  keels  along  the  pathway  dark, 

Unknown,  unfathomed,  stirred  by  untried  gales. 

What  though  Atlantis  lay  beneath  the  waves, 
By  swift  convulsion  to  destruction  hurled ; — 

The  dead,  forgotten  in  the  ocean  caves, 

Were  needed  not  to  point  the  distant  world. 


L34  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


0 !  who  can  muse,  with  listless,  careless  thought, 
Upou  that  man  majestic,  and  the  force 

That  urged  him,  scant-equipped,  and  vaguely  taught, 
Toward  skies  unseen  to  shape  uncertain  course? 

Surely  the  hand  of  God  was  then  displayed; 

His  finger  pointed  to  the  distant  realm, 
And  meekly  the  brave  mariner  obeyed, 

Hope  on  his  prow  and  courage  at  the  helm. 

No !  not  the  lamp  mysterious,  whose  rays 
Lead  the  worn  traveler  on  a  dangerous  waj-, 

That  glimmer  of  the  torch,  whose  moving  blaze 
Told  the  great  captain  where  a  haven  lay. 

That  feeble  gleam  thus  piercing  nature's  night, 
Was  the  precursor  of  a  grander  morn, 

A  day  of  liberty,  when  learning's  light, 
Spread  broadcast,  should  redeem  a  world  newborn. 

The  savage  saw  at  morning.    Let  us  pause, 
And  draw  a  line  across  historic  page ; 

Not  to  Columbus  may  we  trace  the  cause 
That  fired  his  lofty  soul  with  righteous  rage. 

The  wondering  savage  welcomed.    Fatal  trust 
For  him  !    Thus  ancient  progress  ever  strode 

O'er  peoples  conquered,  humbled  to  the  dust 
By  iron  heel  and  fell  oppression's  goad. 

Yes ;  draw  the  veil  of  mercy ;  let  our  eyes 

Rest  on  bright  scenes,  for  contemplation  food ; — 

The  savage  still  retreats ;  new  temples  rise. 
Where,  in  the  ancient  days,  the  wigwam  stood. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  135 


What  were  tbe  grace  of  kings  to  his  compared, 
Who  gave  to  Spain  a  realm  before  unknown ; 

Whose  skill  accomplished  what  his  courage  dared — 
A  promise  kept,  a  conquest  all  his  own  ? 

The  richest  jewel  in  the  monarch's  crown, 
Though  worn  by  ancestors  of  ancient  birth, 

Could  add  no  lustre  to  his  high  renown, 
Whose  faith  revealed  another  half  of  Earth. 

Nay;  pause  not  here ;  Columbus  glory  earned, 
While  the  twin  sovereigns  dubious  fame  obtained, 

When  from  Granada's  towers  a  race  they  spurned 
Through  whom  high  arts  and   learning  had  been 
gained. 

Honor  Columbus  !    Can  the  ready  tongue, 
Though  apt  with  sounding  word,  or  swelling  phrase, 

Add  one  new  grace  his  laurel  leaves  among, 
Or  to  a  grander  height  his  glory  raise  ? 

Honor  Columbus  1    Yes ;  dear  homesteads  now, 
States,  arts,  high  commerce,  smiling  peoples,  these 

May  meetly. honor  him  who  urged  his  prow 
To  seek  Cathay  beyond  unmeasured  seas ! 


LE  PAY  SAN. 

Monsieur  le  Marquis  dwells  in  state, 

A  palace  his  chateau; 
His  guests  are  courtly,  proud  and  great, 

Who  all  life's  comforts  know. 
Content,  I  love  my  cottage  home, 

To  share  my  humble  store 


136  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


With  neighbors  who  at  twilight  come 
To  dance  beside  my  door. 

Monsieur  le  Marquis  sleeps  on  down ; 

I  on  a  bed  of  straw ; 
His  loaf  is  white  ;  my  crust  is  brown 

And  sometimes  hard  to  gnaw. 
Yet  wonld  not  I,  for  all  his  wealth, 

For  all  his  acres  fair, 
Exchange  for  his  my  rugged  health, 

And  greater  burdens  bear. 

Monnieur  le  Marquis  does  not  toil 

In  patient,  humble  mood, 
To  earn,  with  sweat,  his  bread,  and  oil, 

And  all  his  dainty  food. 
My  hands  are  rough,  from  handling  oft 

The  pruniug-hook  and  vine; 
They  press  the  grapes  when  ripe  and  soft, 

That  he  may  drink  the  wine. 

Monsieur  le  Marquis  came  of  age 

When  I  was  forty-odd, 
And  well  had  learned  the  wisdom-page 

Spread  out  along  the  sod. 
Life-hours  with  varying  measures  fly; 
"  Slow  move  "  is  nature's  creed; 
Monsieur  will  rest,  perhaps,  where  I 

His  epitaph  may  read. 


FOR  AN  AUTOGRAPH  ALBUM. 

A  name  is  but  a  little  thing, 

Yet  oft  it  serves  some  thought  to  wing, 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  137 


Of  pleasant  import,  tender  tone, 
Like  memory  music,  heard  alone 
Where  silent  earth  and  sea,  at  even, 
Look  up  through  moonlight  unto  heaven. 
Lady,  when  mine  you  hap  to  view, 
May  it  bring  music  thoughts  to  you. 


IN  THE  COMING  TIME. 

As  the  blue  is  turning  gray, 

By  the  fading  touch  of  years, 
And  the  wearers  pass  away, 

And  the  mourners  dry  their  tears, 
So  shall  thought  that  giveth  pain, 

Slowly,  gentler  passing,  cease ; 
Then,  concordant,  shall  remain 

Faith,  prosperity  and  peace. 

As  the  gray  is  bleaching  white, 

And  the  sword  is  gathering  rust, 
When  the  warriors  old  unite, 

Kindred  in  the  peace  of  dust, 
Living  children  shall  agree, 

Patriots  in  all  days  to  come; 
And  the  song  beloved  shall  be 

Father-land  and  mother-home. 

Then  our  glorious  flag  shall  wave, 
Union  stars  shall  lustre  shed, 

Loved  by  all,  o'er  every  grave 
Sacred  to  the  gallant  dead ; 

Every  vain  regret  shall  end. 
Lost  to  memory  evermore, 


138  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

And  a  blessing  shall  descend, 
Full  from  Heaven's  exhaustless  store. 

Then  America  shall  grace 

With  her  gifts  memorial  hours; 
Then  her  thoughtful  care  shall  place 

Over  all  the  votive  flowers. 
Of  her  white  robe  every  fold 

Shall  display,  in  tender  hue, 
Bed  and  gray,  with  stars  of  gold 

Gleaming  on  her  cincture  blue. 


ALL  18  NOT  LOST. 

All  is  not  lost,  O  Soul  in  sorrow !  groping 
To  find  the  pathway  leading  to  the  grave, 
Where  the  sad  shades,  with  hands  inviting,  wave 

Toward  ebon  gates,  where  comfort  dies  in  hoping. 

The  sombre  clouds  that  mar  the  smiling  meetness 
Of  summer  landscape  when  the  sun  goes  down, 
May  break  at  midnight,  and  the  green  and  brown 

Resume,  at  morn,  their  beauty  and  completeness. 

What  though  the  chilling  winter  snow  be  falling, 

And  roses  lie  inert  beneath  its  fold ; 

The  northward-tending  sun  shall  warm  the  mold, 
And  break  their  slumber,  all  to  duty  calling. 

What  though  thy  friend  may  seem  to  greet  unkindly, 
With  eyes  that  beamed  but  joy  in  other  days ; 
Perhaps  thou  seest  dimly — through  a  haze 

Begot  by  thine.    Lave  should  condemn  not  blindly. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  139 


MY  BABY'S  SHOES. 

Those  little  browu  relics,  ray  baby's  shoes, 

That  I  keep  with  my  treasures  rare, 
I  would  not  from  sight  and  from  memory  lose, 

For  aught  that  the  world  could  spare. 
They  remind  me  of  darling  when  young  and  mine, 

All  mine,  in  iny  loving  arms, — 
Dimpled  cheeks,  rosy  lips,  and  blue  eyes  so  fine, 

And  her  thousand  sweet  baby  charms. 

One  heel  is  low -worn,  the  other  is  gone. 

And  the  linings  are  soiled  and  frayed, 
For  fleet  were  the  feet,  on  the  floor  o     awn. 

Of  my  beautiful,  blue -eyed  maid. 
The  faded  morocco  is  hard  and  dried ; 

The  counters  are  crushed  and  low ; 
And  one  has  a  very  bad  rent  in  the  side, 

And  each  has  a  hole  in  the  toe. 

Three  buttons  are  left  of  the  dozen  or  more, 

And  there's  many  a  wrinkle  gray 
Where  once  the  gay  sheen  of  the  shop  they  wore, 

But  they're  lovelier  far  to-day. 
O  !  I  wonder  if  babies  in  paradise  wear, 

With  their  jewels  and  robes  complete, 
Golden  slippers  more  precious,  or  half  as  fair, 

On  their  pink -and -white  tiny  feet. 

Now  my  darling  has  grown  a  dear  lady  wise, 

As  all  maiden  babies  should  do ; 
And  I  read  a  new  tale  in  the  smile  of  her  eyes, 

For  a  lover  has  come  to  woo. 


140  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

0  young  inau  so  true !  you  have  joy  iu  your  kiss, 
Wheii  your  lips  to  her  cheek  you  press, 

As  I  deem  when  I  measure  the  old-time  bliss 
Of  my  fond  baby's  tender  caress. 

How  vain  the  emotions  that  charm  and  die, 
Delights  that  unstable  prove  ; 

1  had  rather,  than  all  that  my  money  can  buy, 
Have  a  few  treasure  things  to  love  : 

Dear  mem'ries  for  smiles,  some  for  tenderest  fears, 

As  ever  I  pick  and  choose, — 
Some  things  that  recall  my  happiest  years, 

Like  my  beautiful  baby's  shoes. 


OUR  ANNA'S  GRAVE. 

Ye  frost-cold  winds  that  nip  the  tardy  flowers, 

And  bleach  the  meadow  fields  and  uplands  bare, 
Blow  softly  through  the  chilled  and  leafless  bowers 

That  fringe  the  wave-washed  shores  by  Delaware. 
Breathe  requiem  music  softly  sweet  and  low, 

And  bid  the  winter  fays  and  fairies  tread, 
With  lightest  buskins,  where  the  mantling  snow 

Shall  press  the  sod  above  our  darling  dead. 

A  gentle  pilgrim,  worn  on  life's  long  way, 

Serene,  a  tired  and  only  transient  guest, 
In  bleak  and  cold  December's  early  day, 

With  loving  hands  we  laid  her  there  to  rest, 
Where  spring  shall  come  again,  and  warmer  suns 

Spread  flowers  and  harvests  on  the  smiling  lea, 
Where  by  low  banks  the  gentle  river  runs, 

And  hastening  navies  seek  the  swelling  sea. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  141 

When  grace  shall  greet  with  smiles  the  vernal  year, 

And  brooks,  released,  along  the  meadows  glide, 
For  her  the  banished  rose  shall  reappear, 

And  starlike  daisy  deck  the  pastures  wide. 
When  violets  slumber  while  the  cricket  sings, 

What  time  the  shadows  drape  the  eastern  sky, 
There  shall  the  timid  ringdove  fold  his  wings, 

And  coo  for  her  an  evening  lullaby. 

Thither  shall  memory  the  way  retrace, 

With  love  for  aye  renewed,  and  gentler  trust, 
As  the  fond  tendril  holds  in  its  embrace, 

A  thing  of  beauty  crumbling  into  dust. 
And  thoughts  more  dear,  as  years  shall  pass  away 

Like  billows  spent  and  lost  in  coming  wave, 
Shall  grace  the  soul  where  sleeps  the  honored  clay, 

In  rest  and  peace  in  darling  Anna's  grave. 


LOOK  WITHIN. 

Never  a  day  should  pass  in  doubt 

Of  friend  once  loved,  in  happier  mood ; 
Faith  should  not  all  be  lost  without 

A  cause  well  proved  and  understood. 
All  are  not  false  though  some  untrue ; 

A  seeming  wrong  may  be  correct ; 
Thy  varied  nature  oft  review, 

And  make  amend  for  some  neglect. 

Never  should  frown  o'ercloud  the  face, 
Nor  useless  jealousy  control ; 

Anger  should  never  leave  a  trace 
Of  serpent  trail  upon  the  soul. 


142  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


All  are  not  bad,  though  some  are  vile ; 

Thy  hope  should  keep  the  conscience  pure; 
Art  thon  unhappy  !  try  to  smile, 

For  smiles  may  work  a  perfect  cure, 

Never  should  charge  unkind  be  made, 

Affecting  any,  known  or  not ; 
Justice,  if  warped,  or  long  delayed, 

At  last  may  fail  or  be  forgot. 
Thou  canst  not  know  what  others  think  ; 

Wherefore  the  laugh,  or  why  the  moan  ; 
Some  bitter  cup  thou,  too,  mayst  drink, 

For  joy  is  not  for  thee  alone. 


SONNET. — (To  an  unlcnoicn  young  Lady.) 

Of  charming  maidenhood  a  very  pearl 

Dainty  of  hue  and  with  a  lustre  rare, 
God  made  thee  bright  and  beautiful,  sweet  girl 
With  auburn  locks  that,  wooing,  kiss  and  curl 

Around  a  forehead  as  an  angel's  fair. 
Thou  art  to  me  like  spirit  of  a  dream, 

In  every  movement,  every  look  precise, 
That  haunts  my  musing  thought  beside  the  stream 

That  winds  from  Earth  through  vale  of  Paradise. 
Can  one  so  rich  in  every  gentle  charm, 

With  aught  that  is  impure,  improper  mate? 
O  modest  maiden  !  thoughtful,  take  alarm, 
And  guard  a  virgin  soul  from  every  harm, 

Whate'er  thy  fortune  be,  or  what  thy  fate. 


Miseellaneous  Poems.  143 

TO  A  YOUNG  MOTHER. 

To  you,  O  happy  lady!  highly  graced, 
A  precious  jewel  God  hath  kindly  sent, 
Wherewith  your  yearning  heart  well  were  content, 

On  which  His  love  in  living  lines  is  traced. 

A  gem  of  price — of  beauty  full  and  new, — 
Eyes  with  the  sky -tint  of  the  early  morn ; 
Cheeks  with  the  flush  of  roses  fragrant-born, 

And  clew-moist  lips  of  soft  carnation  hue. 

Can  art  embody  thought  so  sweetly  fair  ? 

Can  nature's  beauty-work  more  triumph  claim? — 
A  voice  to  coo,  sometime,  the  mother-name, 

And  little  hands  to  fold  in  baby-prayer. 

There's  not  a  boon  to  mortals  ever  given : 
The  sparkling  treasures  of  the  Indian  fields, 
Nor  aught  that  oceaurs  coral  cavern  yields, 

Can  equal  this,  the  dearest  gift  of  Heaven. 

O  pride  without  reproach !  O  peaceful  joy ! 
What  angel -thought  a  purer  faith  reveals, 
Than  hers,  who  lovingly  and  softly  kneels 

To  gaze  upon  her  slumbering  infant  boy  ? 

What  rich  emotions  thrill  her  yearning  breast ! 

What  glowing  fancies  warm  her  happy  heart ! 

She  plans  his  years  of  boyhood,  like  a  chart, 
And  sees,  with  eyes  prophetic,  all  the  rest. 

Be  it  your  joy,  O  mother  fond !  to  know 
The  rich  reality  of  these  bright  dreams; 
May  heavenly  grace,  with  full  and  tender  beams, 

Touch  this  dear  flower  and  bless  its  early  blow. 


144:  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

THE  MARINER'S  SERENADE. 

O'er  the  waves  iny  shallop  hies, 
On  the  bank  the  cottage  stands, 

Where  my  Maud  in  slumber  lies, 
Dreaming  of  the  glory-lands. 

Waken,  Maud,  thou  bird  of  May, 

Listen  to  my  roundelay. 

Swiftly  on  the  moments  go, — 
Golden  moments  all  to  me ; 

Swiftly  out  the  waters  flow, 
Cresting  toward  the  moonlit  sea. 

Waken,  Maud,  thou  bird  of  Mav, 

7  • 

Listen  to  my  roundelay. 

Safe  my  bark  at  anchor  rides, 
While  across  the  ocean  far. 

Restless  waves  and  heaving  tides 
Kiss  the  setting  vesper  star. 

Waken,  Maud,  thou  bird  of  May, 

Listen  to  my  roundelay. 

On  the  deck,  at  morning  dawn, 
I  my  watch  shall  faithful  keep; 

Pensive  Maud  will  pace  her  lawn, 
Gazing  sadly  o'er  the  deep. 

Waken,  Maud,  thou  bird  of  May, 

Listen  to  my  roundelay. 

Soon  my  bark  will  fold  her  wings 
By  the  fair  Venitian  shore, 

Where  the  dark -eyed  maiden  sings, 
Timing  with  the  dipping  oar. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  145 

Wakeu,  Maud,  them  bird  of  May, 
Listen  to  my  roundelay. 

Other  eyes  will  greet  me  there, 

Other  fingers  may  caress, 
While  from  far  lagune  the  air 

Wooes  with  evening's  soft  caress. 
Wakeu,  Maud,  thou  bird  of  May, 
Listen  to  my  roundelay. 

Maud,  a  last,  a  fond  good-night, 

Waft  I  o'er  the  waters  dark ; — 
Haste,  away !  thou  shallop  light, 

Bear  me  to  my  waiting  bark,. 
Maud  is  sleeping,  bird  of  May  ; 
All  unheard  my  roundelay. 


SEASONS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

SPRING. 

To  southern  skies  and  lauds  remote 

Pale  Winter  hastes  away  ; 
Again  we  hear  the  robin's  note 

That  greets  the  early  May. 
The  brawling  brooks  resume  their  flow, 

From  icy  fetters  free, 
And  dash  and  gurgle  as  they  go 

To  seek  the  distant  sea. 

The  quickened  life  beneath  the  sod 

Calls  for  the  milder  showers, 
And  upland  turf  and  meadow  clod 

:Now  laugh  with  golden  flowers.  K 


146  MiitceUaneous  Poems. 

The  peopled  woods  aud  fields  give  voice, 

And  loving  tribute  bring ; 
And  all  harmoniously  rejoice, 

To  hail  the  gentle  Spring. 

So  when  redeeming  love's  embrace 

Shall  warm  the  frosted  heart, 
New  hope  will  hail  the  tender  grace, 

Aud  bid  the  chill  depart.     . 
Faith,  life  and  love  their  joy  will  tell, 

And  spirit  leaves  unfold, 
As  heaven's  mild  air  dissolves  the  spell 

On  germs  inert  aud  cold. 

SUMMER. 
Now,  panting  in  the  noonday  heat, 

The  bird  forgets  his  soug ; 
The  meadow  brook,  with  flow  discreet, 

Pours  noiselessly  along. 
On  far-off  skies — pale  azure  seas — 

The  gray  clouds  idly  rest, 
Like  ships  that  wait  the  laggard  breeze, 

Becalmed  on  ocean's  breast. 

But  night,  with  cooler  mantle  spread, 

O'er  all  the  dewy  scene, 
Will  softly  fan  the  achiug  head, 

In  ministry  serene.   • 
The  fainting  plants  will  lift  their  leaves 

To  catch  the  mimic  rain 
Which  heaven  bestows,  and  earth  receives, 

To  soothe  her  fever  pain. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  147 

So,  when  the  burdened  spirit  droops, 

Or  faints  along  the  road, 
Some  passing  angel  ever  stoops 

To  lift  its  heavy  load. 
We  shall  obtain  the  grace  we  need, 

In  every  trial  hour, 
If  steadfast  hope  receive  the  rneed, 

And  faith  accept  the  shower. 


AUTUMN. 

The  Summer  rose  has  blushed  and  died, 

The  Autumn  days  have  come, 
The  gathered  sheaves,  in  generous  pride, 

Proclaim  the  harvest -home. 
The  turf,  of  late  so  richly  dressed 

In  green  and  flowery  bloom, 
Now  in  a  russet  robe  shall  rest 

Through  Winter's  storm  and  gloom. 

How  haste  the  joyous  hours  away  ! 

The  time  of  toil  how  soon  ! 
How  pleasant  is  the  close  of  day, 

How  fair  the  harvest- Moon  ! 
The  insect  pipes  his  loving  note, 

Responsive  to  his  mate ; 
The  lowing  herds,  from  fields  remote, 

Come  to  the  farmyard  gate. 

Sweet  Autumn  time !  O  golden  mean  ! 

O  best  of  happy  days ! 
Now  nature,  in  a  mood  serene, 

Smiles  in  her  gentler  ways. 


148  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


Thou  Soul !  how  full  the  blessings  prove, 

To  thee  so  freely  given, — 
The  harvest  of  a  Father's  love, 

And  Autumn  sheaves  in  heaven. 


WINTER. 

The  turf,  beneath  a  robe  of  snow, 

In  fettered  stillness  lies ; 
The  evening  stars  in  splendor  glow, 

And  lustrous  are  the  skies. 
The  icy  grasp  is  on  the  rill, 

The  foresMeaves  are  sere, 
And  woodlands  bare  and  tempests  chill 

Wail  for  the  dying  year. 

But  why  thy  plaint,  O !  troubled  heart  I 

Suppress  the  rising  sigh ; 
New  hope,  new  peace  will  joy  impart, 

For  lo  !  the  Spring  is  nigh. 
Warm  suns  shall  lift  the  Winter  hand 

From  fields  and  slumbering  vales, 
And  grasses  shoot,  and  flowers  expand, 

To  scent  the  gentler  gales. 

So  hope  should  aye  withstand  the  storm; 

So  love,  forever  near, 
Will  sweetly  soothe  and  kindly  warm, 

When  all  things  else  are  drear. 
O !  ever  hope  and  love  bestow 

Faith's  mercy  beams  once  more 
On  souls  beneath  the  drifting  snow, 

Or  chilled  on  life's  bleak  shore  ! 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  149 


SUMMER  MORNING. 

Peerless  in  splendor  Aurora  advances, 

Leading  her  train  o'er  the  wakening  world: 
Legions  of  sunlight,  with  gold -shafted  lances, 

Pennons  gay-streaming  and  banners  unfurled. 
Voices  in  gladness  to  swift  echoes  calling, 

Cadence  and  swell  of  the  far-away  horn, 
Mystery-music  on  spirit  ear  falling, 

Herald  thine  advent,  O  beautiful  morn ! 

Spiced  with  the  odors  of  palm-bearing  islands, 

Lightly  thy  squadrons,  the  frolicsome  gales, 
Charge  thro'  the  leaves  of  the  trees  on  the  highlands, 

Rustle  the  dew-jeweled  brakes  in  the  vales. 
Billowing  grain-fields  with  sunbeams  are  gleaming; 

Orchards  are  golden  with  apples  and  corn ; 
Song-birds  tell  tales  of  their  summer-night  dreaming; 

All  things  rejoice  with  thee,  beautiful  morn  ! 

Come,  O  my  dear  one !  with  rapture  low-singing, 

Come  from  thy  couch  and  enjoy  the  glad  mirth; 
Lo  !  from  the  meadows  thy  lovers  are  bringing 

Treasures  for  thee  from  the  bountiful  earth. 
Brown-tinted  shrubs  with  ripe  berries  are  laden ; 

Hasten,  ye  nymphs  in  the  green  forests  born, 
Give  fruits  and  flowers  to  my  bonnie  young  maiden, 

Flushed  with  thy  radiance,  O  beautiful  morn  ! 


In  human  life  two  moods  we  find 
Obtaining  in  the  common  mind  : 
Mercy  is  weak  and  justice  blind. 


150  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


NEW  METRICAL  CALENDAR. 

Respectfully  dedicated  to  Julius  Caesar. 

In  April,  June,  September, 
And  also  in  November, 

But  thirty  days  we  mind ; 
And  February  we  must  rate 
As  numbering  only  twenty-eight, 
Save  when,  without  a  fraction  o'er, 
We  can  divide  the  sum  by  four, 
Then,  giving  February  one  day  more, 

The  years  complete  we  find. 
In  years  bissextile  girls  propose, 
By  right,  among  the  bashful  beaux; 
An  ancient  rule — correct,  of  course, — 
Accepted  still,  but  not  in  force. 


BLANCHE  OF  OLENORNING. 

To  the  altar  they  lead  her,  a  young  Highland  maid, 

All  her  sighs  and  reproaches  unheeding, 
For  the  old  earl  would  wed  her,  by  parent  betrayed, 

While  her  heart  for  her  lover  is  pleading. 
Though  the  scorn  on  her  lip  and  the  tear  in  her  eye 

Seem  the  blending  of  anguish  and  warning. 
Ne'er  a  countess  so  fair  with  the  beauty  can  vie 

Of  the  cottage-born  Blanche  of  Gleuorniug. 

Who  is  he,  mailed  in  armor  of  steel,  that  with  speed, 
Spurs  to  rescue,  with  faithful  devotion, 

Down  the  aisle  of  the  vast  old  cathedral  his  steed, 
Like  a  shore-driven  wave  of  the  ocean  f 

It  is  Donald  of  Lorn,  the  true  lover  and  bold, 
All  the  honor  of  knighthood  adorning; 


Miscellaneous  Poeim.  15.1 


At  the  altar  be  stoops,  and  his  strong  arms  enfold 
The  half- fainting  Blanche  of  G-lenorning. 

Now  away  thro'  the  portal  and  speed  at  your  best, 

Faithful  courser,  well- weighted  and  rarely, 
With  the  knight  in  the  saddle,  the  maid  on  his  breast. 

You  must  bear  double  burden  and  fairly. 
Fleet  as  wind  o'er  the  crest  of  Ben  Lomond  is  he, 

Strong  is  Donald  in  life's  happy  morning  ; 
And  a  sweet,  gentle  captive,  and  loving  is  she, 

The  beautiful  Blanche  of  Glenoruing. 


SONG  OF  REQUIEM. 

For  the.  literary  service  at  the  re-burial  of  the  body  of 
JOHN  HOWARD  PAYXE. 

From  beyond  vast  ocean  waves, 
F'rom  the  laud  of  ancient  graves, 
From  a  far  and  foreign  shore, 
Welcome,  welcome  evermore. 

Earth  of  home,  in  honor  hold, 
Thine  for  aye,  his  ashes  cold ; 
Softly,  as  on  mother  breast, 
Fold  them  in  eternal  rest. 

Spirit !  from  the  realm  sublime, 
Pilgrim  to  this  place  of  time, 
Hither  come,  in  mood  serene, 
When  the  fields  and  woods  are  green,. 

Greet  the  faithful  friend  that  waits 
Just  before  the  pearly  gates 


152  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


Of  thy  heaven,  the  home  of  peace, 
Where  all  mournful  memories  cease. 

Lo !  the  iiations  turn  to  thee ! 
Thou  art  richer  now  than  we : 
Million  homes  to  thee  belong, 
Minstrel  of  the  tender  song. 

This,  a  consecrated  shrine 
For  these  ashes  shall  be  thine  : 
Arching  heaven  its  temple  dome, 
Thine,  who  sang  the  song  of  home. 

Ah  !  to  utter  words  so  sweet, 
Knowing  that  thy  weary  feet 
Could  not  reach  the  dear  abode : 
Soul-rest  on  the  heavenly  road. 

Homeless!  thou  for  kindness  made; 
Fortune-prospered,  fate -betrayed ; 
Loved — neglected  like  the  flower 
Toy  of  l>eauty's  idle  hour ! 

What  sweet  hope  inspired  thy  theme  t 
Whence  the  angel  of  thy  dream  f 
Soul  of  song !  thy  strains  reveal 
Thoughts  of  seraph  Israfil. 

Didst  behold,  in  vision  bright, 
Home  of  youth  in  summer  light? 
Didst  remember  mother's  joy, 
Loving  thee,  her  gentle  boy  f 

Weary-wandering  over  Earth, 


Miscellaneous   Poems.  153 


Straiiger  to  the  laud  of  birth, 
Thither  borne  and  hither  tossed, 
Honors  won,  but  comforts  lost, 

Far  from  friendly  hearth  and  hand, 
Dying  in  a  lonely  land, 
Oh  !  how -hard  the  bitter  pang 
Not  to  know  the  joy  he  saug  ! 

Home,  poor  wanderer !  peril  passed ; 
Sleep,  secure  from  every  blast ; — 
Earth,  to  thee  this  precious  trust : 
Death  to  silence !  dust  to  dust ! 

Love  his  grave,  O  midnight  moon  ! 
Stars  of  evening,  sun  of  noon, 
With  your  radiant  angel  eyes 
Gazing  from  admiring  skies. 

Gentle  birds  he  loved  so  well, 
Fauna  of  the  wooded  dell, 
Here  rehearse  your  tender  woes, 
Where  caressing  hands  repose. 

As  the  ruder  seasons  pass, 
Faded  flowers  and  felted  grass, 
Withered  leaves  and  falling  snow, 
Over  him  a  mantle  throw. 

When  retires  gray  winter  old, 
And  the  grasses  pierce  the  mold, 
When  the  early  robins  bring 
Tidings  of  the  virgin  spring, 


Miscellaneous  Poems. 


Kootlets,  threads  of  nature's  loom, 
Weave  a  fragrant  robe  of  bloom  ; 
Shed  for  him  the  -dew-born  tear, 
Darlings  of  the  vernal  year. 

Thus  shall  passing  time  relate 
Stories  of  his  life  and  fate  : 
Spring  and  summer  smiles  and  showers, 
Autumu  joys  and  winter  hours. 

Million  -voiced,  and  aye,  and  aye, 
Strains  of  his  beloved  lay 
Chanted  here,  and  evermore, 
Echoed  from  the  angel  shore, 

Wind  of  winter,  summer  breeze, 
Bird-notes  in  the  swaying  trees, 
Song  of  land  and  song  of  sea, 
These  his  requiem  shall  be. 


THE  ALBATROSS. 

Leagues,  many  a  league  from  the  shore  flies  he, 
Albatross,  prince  of  the  vast,  blue  sea ; 
Wide-spreading  the  pinions  that  waft  him  away, 
And  free  as  the  wind  is  their  sweep  and  play. 
When  the  gale  blows  fiercest  and  waves  toss  high, 
He  swings  far  aloft  with  a  shrill,  wild  cry, 
Or  he  stoops  to  the  billows,  his  chosen  home, 
And  playthings  to  him  are  their  crests  of  foam. 

His  food  is  the  flotsam  adrift  on  the  waves, 
Thrown  up  from  its  bed  in  the  deep,  dark  caves; 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  155 

Or  the  oil  that  exudes  from  the  monstrous  whales, 

Or  the  refuse  of  barks  that  are  strained  by  the  gales. 

His  nestlings  he  leaves  to  the  tenderer  care. 

Of  the  mate  on  the  cliff  and  the  rough  rocks  there, 

For  he  finds  on  the  cradling  waves  a  home, 

And  a  dearer  caress  from  their  crests  of  foam. 

The  mariner  listens  his  strident  cry, 
As  his  bark  slips  on  and  the  seas  dash  by ; 
And  sometimes  the  surge  to  his  feet  will  fling 
A  feather  wind -torn  from  the  free-bird's  wing; 
And  this  he  will  treasure,  for  many  a  day, 
As  a  toy  for  his  loved  one,  or  children's  play ; 
And  perchance  even  albatross  dreams  of  a  home 
Far  over  the  waves  and  their  crests  of  foam. 


LITTLE  BROWN  COW. 

Written  at  the  Continental  Farm,  near  Philadelphia,  Pa., 
Dec.,  1887. 

What  are  you  thinking  about,  brown  cow, 

As  you  stand  by  the  apple  tree — 
Of  the  fruit  that  once  hung  on  the  bending  bough, 

When  the  clover  was  red  on  the  lea? 
Do  you  dream  of  the  child  of  your  loves  and  fears, 

That  is  tethered  in  yonder  shed — 
Of  its  beautiful  eyes,  and  its  great  red  ears, 

And  its  straw-littered,  cosy  bed  ? 

Do  you  ask  why  the  spring  and  the  summer  are  done, 

And  the  generous  autumn  days? 
Why  the  earlier  sleep  of  the  setting  sun, 

That  shall  waken  in  morning  haze? 


156  MitoeUaneout  Poems. 


Do  you  think  of  the  ships  that  go  sailing  by, 

On  the  Delaware's  sea- bound  tide, 
That  shall  fade  away,  lost  in  the  low,  dark  sky, 

Or  in  shadows  of  night  shall  hide  ? 

Brown  cow,  on  these  beautiful  lawns  all  life 

To  you  lent  for  happiness  seems  ; 
For  you  hear  not  the  din  of  the  great  world  strife, 

And  your  thoughts  are  but  dreams  and  dreams. 
The  ploughman  must  go  to  his  daily  toil, 

Or  garner  the  autumn  seed, 
The  learned  must  write,  and  the  craftsman  moil, 

Their  loved  ones  to  clothe  and  feed. 

All  workmen  must  delve  in  the  common  field, 

Where  each  is  the  servant  of  all ; 
For  the  sea  must  be  sailed,  and  the  sod  must  yield 

Its  treasures,  whatever  befall. 
Such  as  you  are  the  objects  of  earnest  thought, 

As  the  seasons  their  works  reveal ; 
If  the  corn  were  not  garnered  the  grist  were  nought: 

Where,  then,  were  your  winter  meal  ? 

Brown  cow,  there  are  duties  for  all.  and  you 

Have  a  mission,  whatever  you  dream  ; 
The  young  you  must  nourish,  the  cud  must  chew, 

Else  where  were  the  dainty  cream. 
Chew  on  ;  of  the  future  let  others  think, 

For  your  time  is  but  brief  on  the  lawn  : 
A  little  for  food,  and  a  little  for  drink, 

And  then  '  twill  be  over  and  gone. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  157 


NOT  LOST. 

They  are  not  lost  whose  bodies  we  lay  by, 
Like  jewel  caskets  when  the  gems  are  gone ; 

As  well  believe  that  stars  at  morning-  die, 
Because  they  i'ade  and  vanish  at  the  dawn. 

Not  lost,  the  loved;  they  go,  like  lights  which  burn 

An  instant,  feebly  flicker  and  expire; 
But  over  death  victorious,  they  return, 

With  lamps  relighted  by  love's  altar  fire. 

A  little  time  through  wondrous  realm  to  roam, 
To  bathe  in  springs  whence  cleansing  waters  flow  ; 

A  few  short  hours  to  view  the  heavenly  home, 
And  rest  awhile  where  heaven's  own  breezes  blow ; 

To  kneel  before  the  footstool  of  the  king, 
Serenely  grateful  for  the  life  on  Earth  ; 

Then  coming  back  on  love's  immortal  wing, 
They  tell  us  of  the  new,  the  higher  birth. 

Thus  oft  some  gentle  spirit,  pure  as  light, 
Returns  with  tidings  after  its  release, 

As  beautiful  as,  on  Judea's  height, 

The  ancient  messenger  proclaiming  peace. 

And  not  in  vain, — O  often  not  in  vain ! — 

The  loving  ministry  serene  and  calm, 
To  reassure,  to  ease  the  mental  strain, 

And  soothe  the  troubled  heart  with  healing  balm. 

I  deem  the  soul's  abode  not  unknown  sphere, 
To  which,  when  life  is  ended,  I  shall  go; 


158  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Faith  tells  me  the  eternal  home  is  near, 
And  every  darling  thought  would  have  it  so. 


TO  THE  PRESIDENT'S  BRIDE. 

Bride  of  our  President,  to  thee 
The  nation  turns  with  bended  knee, 
Craving  the  grace  to  touch  thy  hand, 
Fair  and  first  lady  of  the  land. 
It  greets  thee,  and  rich  homage  brings ; 
It  lays  before  thee  offerings ; 
Best  wishes,  pure,  and  richly  set, 
Jeweled  in  fancy's  coronet. 

Wafted  across  wide  ocean  waves, 

O'er  pearl-strewn  fields  and  coral  caves, 

Thou  camst  in  answer  to  the  call 

Of  love,  subdued,  in  gentle  thrall. 

So  wings  the  homing  bird  its  flight ; 

So  comes,  through  shade,  the  ray  of  light. 

O,  dove  at  home !  be  thou  the  dream 

Of  him  whose  brow  reflects  the  beam. 

.    Queen  in  a  realm  whose  boundaries  lie 
Remote,  unseen  by  mortal  eye, 
To  one  alone  life's  better  part, 
Rule  thou  in  every  gentle  heart. 
So,  musing  of  a  dearer  reign 
Thau  one  o'er  merely  Earth  domain, 
Content  the  nation  turns  to  thee, 
With  loyal  soul  and  bended  knee. 

Washington,  D.  C.,  June,  1886. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  159 


THE  LAST  DREAM. 

Of  what  is  the  old  farmer  dreaming-  to-night, 

As  he  naps  in  his  easy  chair, 
Where  the  glow  of  the  hickory  wood-fire  bright 
P'alls  soft  on  his  snow-white  hair? 
Do  memories  come 
Of  the  happier  home, 
When  the  loved  were  all  gathered  there  ? 

For  the  children  are  sailing  the  ocean  of  life, 

Far  out  o'er  its  varied  deeps ; 
For  the  clay-cold  frame  of  the  faithful  old  wife 
In  the  silence  eternal  sleeps ; 

And,  in  stilly  embrace, 
The  most  of  his  race 
Lie  under  the  churchyard  heaps. 

Does  a  low- whispered  word,  like  a  faint  echo -voice, 

Seem  to  come  from  that  years-ago  hour 
When  he  won  the  soft  hand  of  the  girl  of  his  choice, 
The  beautiful  village  flower  ? 

She  was  modest  and  sweet, 
Like  a  lily  complete, 
And  her  true  heart  was  treasure  and  dower. 

In  his  dream  does  he  conquer  the  turf  ou  the  lea, 

That  the  meadow  rich  tribute  may  yield  ? 
Perhaps  his  shrunk  limbs,  as  when  active  and  free, 
Lead  the  cradlers  adown  the  field , 
Or  the  flail  he  flings, 
Or  the  axe  he  swings, 
Which  none  but  the  strong  can  wield. 


160  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Does  he  dream  that  the  laborers  merrily  pass 
From  their  toil  as  the  night  draws  nigh, 
While  his  tottering  feet  o'er  the  yielding  grass 
Move  heavy  and  lingeriugly, 
As  the  aged  stag 
Must  loiter  and  lag 
While  the  young  herd  is  passing  by? 

Poor,  tired  old  man !  you  have  journeyed  far, 

And  well  has  your  race  been  run ; 
The  good  wife  awaits  you,  the  gates  are  ajar, 
And  your  heaven  is  almost  won. 
You  may  sounder  repose 
Ere  the  deeper  snows, 
Perchance  before  morrow  sun. 

Lo !  now  as  the  flickering  fire-flame  dies, 

And  shadows  creep  over  the  floor, 
The  world  is  shut  out  from  those  wearied  eyes, 
As  it  never  has  been  before. 

How  tranquil  he  seems ! 
O  !  sweet  be  his  dreams, 
For  he  sleeps — to  awake  no  more. 


JAMIE   BOY    OF    TENNESSEE. 

Jamie  boy  of  Tennessee, 
In  thy  cradle  cosy, 

Sweet  as  baby  lad  can  be, 
Chubby-cheeked  and  rosy ; 

Art  thou  now  in  beauty  hind 
Full  of  moonlight  beaming, 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  161 

Onward  led  by  fairy  hand, 
In  thy  happy  dreaming? 

Jamie  boy  of  Tennessee, 

Dost  thou  love  the  fairy 
That  so  gaily  leadeth  thee, 

Fleet  of  foot  and  airy  ? 
Is  the  hand  that  presseth  thine, 

In  thy  fancy  roving, 
Soft  as  that  fond  touch  benign, 

Mamma's  kiss  so  loving  ? 

Jamie  boy  of  Tennessee, 

Is  the  landscape  fairer? 
In  that  realm  of  mystery 

Are  the  flowerets  rarer, — 
Have  they  sweeter  scent  than  those 

In  the  garden  growing, 
Than  the  perfume  of  the  rose 

By  thy  window  blowing  ? 

Jamie  boy  of  Tennessee, 

In  thy  skyward  flying 
Dost  thou  hear  the  minstrelsy 

To  thine  own  replying  ? 
Are  the  angel  strains  so  clear, 

Softly  breathe  d  and  wooing, 
Sweeter  than,  to  baby  ear, 

Mamma's  love-notes  cooing? 

Jamie  boy  of  Teuneesee, 

Hie  thou  back  from  roaming; 
Come  on  light  wings  joyously,  L 


162  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Like  a  sweet  dove  homing. 
Stoop  to  Earth  from  golden  skies, 

Where  the  angel  bore  thee, 
And  behold,  with  tender  eyes, 

Mamma  bending  o'er  thee. 


BOOTH,  THE  ASSASSIN. 

What  demon  sent  thee  to  this  world  of  ours  ? 

Thou  imp  malignant!  serpent  fang  of  fate  ! 
Thou  gangrene  rot  that  poisons  and  devours  ! 

Thou  brute,  of  fell  intent  and  deadly  hate  ! 
Not  he  who  scorned  to  yield  to  God's  control, 

But  fled,  o'erwhelmed,  with  rage  in  hell  to  live ; 
Thou  canst  not  say  he  gave  thee  such  a  soul ; 

For  nothing  half  as  bad  could  Satan  give. 

Whence  camst  thou  ?  Wherefore  such  a  blot  as  thou  ? 

A  thing  so  foul  that  charity  disdains 
To  class  thee  even  with  him  upon  whose  brow 

Mute  horror  hangs  in  dark  and  damning  stains. 
Thou  canst  not  say  he  prompted  thee  to  kill, 

For  crime  like  thine  surpasses  Satan's  greed; 
No;  'twas  thine  own  unurged,  accursed  will, — 

Thine  the  conception,  thine  alone  the  deed. 

The  viper  will  not  use  his  venom  fang, 
The  dread  tarantula  will  never  harm, 

The  asp  will  not  inflict  the  deadly  pang; 
Except  when  moved  by  danger,  or  alarm. 

The  foul  hyena  prowls  around  the  grave  ; 
The  crocodile  makes  war  upon  the  blind; 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  .  163 

The  unowned  mongrel  cur  is  sometimes  brave ; 
What  these  of  vileness  lack  in  thee  we  find. 

What !  at  the  peaceful  hour  of  evening  gray, 

When  hungry  beasts  go  out  to  seek  their  game, 
Without  one  motive  to  assault  and  slay, 

Save  hope  vindictive  to  direct  thine  aim  ! 
No  mist  was  on  thy  mind,  except  the  cloud 

That  must  have  shadowed  thine  unholy  birth  ! 
A  soul !  thou  wert  not  with  a  soul  endowed ; 

For  thou  wert  but  a  mass  of  vilest  earth. 

A  patriot,  thou !  low  trickster  of  the  stage, 

Mouthing  a  sentiment  to  gloss  thine  act! 
Shame  to  a  Borgia's  foul  but  grander 'rage; 

Shame  to  an  idiot's  cunning  and  his  tact. 
Oh  !  in  the  range  of  all  that  God  hath  made, 

With  life  endowed,  since  life  on  Earth  began — 
Children  of  sunlight,  or  malarial  shade, 

Nought  has  been  nobler,  nought  as  vile  as  man. 

Go  to  thy  cave,  wherever  that  may  be, 

Nor  come,  dark  spirit,  to  the  eye  of  Heaven; 
Dwell  in  thy  cioud  through  all  eternity, 

Nor  dare  to  think  thy  crime  can  be  forgiven. 
Mercy  gives  hope  that  man,  however  low, 

May  be  ennobled  by  redeeming  grace, 
That  vile  men  may,  in  time,  to  virtue  grow, 

But  thou,  accursed !  thou  art  not  of  our  race. 

O  Muse  !  let  pity  plead ;  forgive  the  strain 
Wrung  from  my  soul  by  .sorrow's  keenest  pain. 
Providence,  R.  J.,  May,  1865. 


164  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

GRACE  BEFORE  DINNER.— [Take  your  clioice.} 

We  earned  this  food  by  toil  aud  sweat; 
Let  us  give  thanks  for  what  we  get, 
And  humbly  live  within  our  means. — 
Wife,  pass  around  the  pork  and  greens. 

We  gained  this  food  by  honest  labor 
Performed,  thank  God,  by  toiling  neighbor. 
Thus  to  divine  decree  we  stoop. — 
John,  tell  the  cook  to  serve  the  soup. 


DEAD  AT  MOUNT  McGREGOR. 

Written  while  the  bells  were  toEing  for  the  death  of  (TEX. 
<  rKANT,  July  23, 188-5. 

Toll!  toll!  toll! 
Ye  slowly-swinging  bells; 

A  passing  human  soul 
Calls  for  your  solemn  knells. 

With  honors  full  of  bloom 
The  chieftain  sinks  to  rest ; — 

Give  place,  expectant  tonib, 
Place  for  another  guest. 

Toll!  toll!  toll! 
Ye  mournful  passing-bells; 

Far  as  your  echoes  roll, 
Bear  requiem  farewells. 

Say  to  the  listening  world. 
With  softly  murmurous  breath. 

Another  flag  unfurled 
Is  in  the  hall  of  Death. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  165 

Toll !  toll !  toll ! 
Ye  deep,  sonorous  bells ; 

Not  as  with  tale  of  dole 
That  sad-voiced  mourner  tells. 

Lo !  fame's  great  congress  waits 
To  see  the  dead  arise  ; — 

Swing  wide,  Walhalla  gates, 
A  hero  mounts  the  skies. 


SONG  OF  THE  SAMIOTS  WIFE. 

Hadst  thou  not  wooed  me,  darling,  my  poor  heart 

Would  still  be  vainly  sighing  for  its  mate ; 
Nor  could  I  hope  for  life's  supremer  part, 

To  share  thy  fortune,  or  to  mourn  thy  fate. 
I  scarce  can  teach  my  lips  my  joy  to  prove, 

My  trust  in  thee,  anear  or  when  afar ; 
Thou  art  mine  own;  the  fountain  of  my  love ; 

My  morning  sunlight  and  my  evening  star. 

Had  I  not  loved  thee,  darling,  dost  thou  think 

Thy  life  had  been  so  blessed  with  happy  years! 
O!  better  far  from  Lethe's  fount  to  drink, 

Than  not  to  know  love's  transports  or  its  fears. 
1  watch  thy  bark  that  cleaves  the  restless  seas, 

Obedient  to  thy  sail,  or  to  thine  oar ; 
I  teach  our  young,  that  gather  round  my  knees, 

The  song  of  welcome  as  thou  near'st  the  shore. 

Hadst  thou  not  wed  me,  darling,  would  thy  skill 
Now  gather  treasures  from  the  coral  caves  ? 

Then  I,  perhaps,  were  hopeless  maiden  still, 
And  thou  a  waif  adrift  upon  the  waves. 


166  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


O !  better  choice  were  love's  pure,  peaceful  ways, 
Than  aimless,  loveless  over  Earth  to  roam ; 

A  dearer  joy  to  learn,  through  happy  days, 
The  blessings  of  contentment  and  a  home. 

Did  I  not  love  thee,  darling,  would  I  train, 

Beside  ray  jasmine  bower,  the  fruitful  vine. 
That  thou,  reclining  there  at  eve,  mayst  drain 

The  cup  high  brimming  with  our  Samian  wine  I 
Nor  would  we  now  behold,  with  tender  eyes, 

Our  nestling  treasures,  as  they  lie  asleep 
In  smiling  peace,  or  dreaming  baby  sighs 

For  thee  far  out  upon  the  treacherous  deep. 


TO  MBS.  JOSEPHINE  AMMON, 

Imprisoned  for  "contempt  of  court,"  alleged,  in  that  she 
refused  to  reveal  the  place  of  retreat  of  a  persecuted  wo 
man  who  had  claimed  her  protection. 

God  give  thee  strength,  brave  woman,  to  endure 
The  taunt  of  power,  the  venom  of  its  scorn, 

And  keep  thee  to  thy  sacred  purpose  sure, 
To  shield  the  sufferer,  soothe  the  soul  forlorn. 

The  stubborn  doors  that  shut  thee  from  the  world, 
Are  but  as  mists  that  veil  a  summer  even, 

Beyond  which  fairer  clouds,  in  light  impearled, 
Are  glorified  by  radiant  stars  of  heaven. 

Locks,  bolts  and  prison  bars  are  but  the  tools 
Which,  forged  for  justice,  oft  their  aim  abuse; 

Tortures  and  chains  are  arguments  of  fools. 

Which,  powerless  else,  they  seek  for  wrong  to  use. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  ]  67 

If  they  be  weak  who  dare  to  brave  the  law 
lu  doing  right,  how  stem  the  law's  decree ! 

If  they  be  strong,  there's  many  a  legal  flaw 
Shall  cover  acts  of  wrong  and  treachery. 

If  urgent  be  the  call,  well  understood, 

Why  wait  the  form  and  bide  the  law's  delay? 

The  proper  time  to  do  an  act  of  good 

Is  when  the  pressing  need  shall  point  the  way. 

Thou  art  thy  sister's  guardian  ;  not  the  man 

She  shuns  with  trembling  limbs  and  fainting  soul, 

Who  sneaks  behind  the  shield  of  law,  to  plan, 
To  do  an  act  of  tyrannous  control. 

As  mercy  prompted,  thou  wert  brave  to  dare 

The  peril  of  a  deed  defiant  done ; 
So  in  thy  prison  be  thou  strong  to  bear 

The  woe  which  menaces  the  anxious  one. 

What  though  the  angel  come  not,  as  of  old, 
To  break  the  prison  bonds  and  set  thee  free ; 

Thy  grand  devotion,  to  the  sisters  told, 
Shall  urge  the  hoar  of  woman's  liberty. 

Feb.  15,  1888. 


EPIGRAM. 

Let  us  smile  when  we  can, — ever  say  unto  sorrow : 
Get  thee  gone  from  us  now ;  hie  away  till  the  mor 
row. 

Thus  the  wisdom  of  wisdoms  each  day  shall  we  learn, 
That  our  small  woes  should  vanish  and  never  return. 


168  Miscellaneous   Poems. 

MORNING    DREAM. 

Lutes  that  have  long  neglected  laiu, 
With  saddest,  sweetest  notes  complain, 
When,  light  as  passing  zephyr  wings, 
Familiar  fingers  sweep  the  strings. 

With  careless  touch  and  little  art 
We  wake  the  spell  that  thralled  the  heart, 
As  through  the  chords  at  random  stray 
The  notes  of  some  long  silent  lay. ' 

And  sweet  to  feel  the  lingering  thrill 
Of  early  joys  within  us  still; 
Then  pleasures  past  return  once  more, 
As  rich  in  feeling  as  before. 

With  kindling  warmth  our  bosoms  burn, — 
Like  gathered  pearls  the  notes  return, 
In  tuneful  measures,  one  by  one, 
Till  all  the  strains  successive  run. 

Thus  oft  a  dream — some  little  thing — 
An  angel  thought,  with  folded  wing, 
We  find 'on  memory's  storied  page, 
Gray-silvered  with  the  dust  of  age. 

Again  we  press  the  verdant  sod, 
In  years  long  gone  with  rapture  trod, 
With  one  fond  heart  beside  us  there, 
Soft-beating  unto  love's  own  prayer. 

A  lily  bell  that  hangs  unseen 
Where  birds  their  ruffled  plumage  preen, 
Can  wing  the  soul  o'er  ocean  wide, 
With  perfume  shed  at  eventide. 


Miscellaneous  POI-HIH. 


A  flickering  taper's  modest  blaze 
Is  as  the  light  of  other  clays 
That  beamed  afar  for  wanderer  lone. 
Listening  to  winter  evening's  moan. 

A  pleasant  smile,  a  kindly  word, 
Note  of  sweet  music,  faintly  heard, 
Perchance  a  sigh,  will  weave  a  spell 
Once  dear  and  still  remembered  well. 

The  bird  that  sang  one  sunny  morn. 
Where  dewdrops  lay  and  flowers  were  born, 
Trilled  in  my  dream  of  days  gone  by, 
A  long-forgotten  melody ; 

And  something  that  my  life  had  lost: 
A  light  from  youth  my  vision  crossed; 
And,  backward  borne  on  that  sweet  song, 
My  pilgrim  spirit  passed  along ; 

Back  through  the  whirl  of  busy  years ; 
Through  days  of  triumphs,  hours  of  tears; 
Back  through  the  time  when  boyish  ways 
Were  lost  in  manhood's  graver  days. 

Sweet  was  the  song ;  but  ah  !  more  dear 
The  soft  bird-notes  I  seemed  to  hear, 
Far  back,  those  earlier  days  among, 
When  love  was  born  and  joy  was  young; 

When,  fresh  with  life's  rich  morning  bloom, 
I  wandered  through  the  lowland  broom, 
Intent  on  careless  youth's  delight, 
And  heard  the  wild -fowl's  whirring  flight. 


Miscellaneous  Poems. 


And  wind  that  waved  the  rustling  brake, 
Came  charged  with  odors  from  the  lake 
By  lilies  starred,  of  tender  dyes, 
Like  cloudless  midnight's  myriad  eyes. 

Gay  bob-o-links,  along  the  meads, 
Sang  on  the  bending,  swaying  reeds, 
And  swallows,  on  their  steady  wings, 
Circled  around  in  mazy  rings. 

Bright  maidens,  in  the  generous  wealth 
Of  sparkling  eyes  and  fragrant  health, 
In  witching  grace  and  modest  ways, 
Shared  with  me  all  my  frolic  days. 

And  one  I  loved,  —  our  village  pearl, 
A  true,  warm-hearted,  blooming  girl,  — 
And  deemed  that  love  would  still  engage 
My  riper  thoughts  in  coming  age. 

Too  dear  the  warbler's  song  —  too  sweet,  — 
The  rising  hum  of  busy  street, 
And  flushing  sky  proclaimed  the  dawn, 
And  bird  and  morning  dream  were  gone. 

O  joy  of  dream  !  Come,  vanished  youth, 
And  cheer  me  with  your  trust  and  truth, 
Until  you  pass,  in  light  serene, 
Across  life's  closing,  evening  scene. 


TO  THE    WOOD'S- BLUEBELL. 

Pure  little  flower!  I  love  thee  well; 
Thy  beauty-language  seems  to  tell 
The  tale  of  long-gone,  happy  times, 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  171 

When  fairies  sang  their  merry  rhymes, 

Or  danced  upon  a  moonlit  bank, 

And  from  thy  cup  the  nectar  drank. 

Ah  !  tales  of  boyhood !  Well  I  deem 

Thee  best  of  life's  long,  fitful  dream, 

The  days  when  fancy  gave  me  wings — 

As  real  then  as  later  things. 

In  vain  my  yearning  eyes  explore 

These  paths, — the  fairies  dance  no  more; 

Gone  all  that  made  this  spot  so  fair, 

Save  thou,  sweet  bluebell,  blooming  there. 


THE  SONG  OF  LIFE. 

Tell  me  !  O  fleecy  snow. 

Around  me  lightly  falling: 
Where  have  the  darlings  goue-1- 
Flowers  of  the  verdant  lawn, 
That  fed  my  gentle  fawn, 

So  joyous  at  my  calling  ? 
Lost,  icithercd  and  decayed, 

They  passed  aicay  in  dying; 
In  robe  of  white  arrayed, 

My  spell  is  on  them  lying. 
Vain,  snow,  the  tale  you  tell ; 

They  know  their  loves  and  duties; 
Warm  suns  will  break  your  spell, 

And  wake  my  garden  beauties. 

Tell  me !  O  passing  years 

That  life  so  swiftly  measure, 
Where  ends  the  flight  of  time? 
Is  there  no  realm  sublime, 


Miscellaneous  Poems. 


Where  life  renews  its  prime, 

With  all  of  hope  and  pleasure  f 
Like  waves  that  reach  the  shore, 

Succeeding  waves  forever, 
We  break  and  are  no  more, — 

Dissolve,  returning  never. 
Ah  !  years,  your  mocking  voice 

Sounds  only  note  of  sadness ; 
I  shall  again  rejoice, 

And  taste  the  cup  of  gladness. 

Tell  me,  ye  radiant  stars, 

In  yonder  heaven  eternal, 
Where  are  the  friends  I've  lost, 
Chilled  by  Earth's  deadly  frost  ? 
Have  they  your  pathway  crossed — 

Your  field  of  light  supernal? 
Vain  !  vain,  thou  yearning  soul ; 

Thou  canst  not  learn  their  story  ; 
As  circling  on  we  roll, 

We  tell  no  tale  but  glory. 
Ah !  stars,  their  flight  they  wing 

Beyond  ye,  far  ascending; 
With  them  I  yet  shall  sing 

The  Song  of  Life  unending. 


Faith  without  reason — an  uncertain  guide,—' 
May  lead  aright,  or  trusting  soul  betray ; 

So  walk  the  blind  through  desert  wilds  untried, 
So  fall,  perhaps,  or  stumble  by  the  way. 

But  this  we  know,  where'er  the  pathway  trod, 

Faith  may  be  trusted  when  it  leads  to  God. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  173 


ROSE    OF    THE    SHANNON. 

O  the  lark  was  in  tune,  and  the  morning  serene, 
And  the  valley  was  clad  in  its  garment  of  green, 
When  I  pressed  her,  love-yielding,  again  to  my  heart, 
Ere  I  turned  from  the  laud  of  my  birth  to  depart'. 
And  she  gave  me  a  tress  from  her  soft  golden  hair, 
And  bade  me  the  gift  on  my  bosom  to  wear, 
That  my  soul  might  return  o'er  the  blue-rolling  sea, 
Where  the  Rose  of  the  Shannon  is  blooming  for  me. 
And  my  soul  goes  a-waudering  over  the  sea, 
Where  the  Eose  of  the  Shannon  is  blooming  for  me. 

Ye  winds  from  the  land  where  my  spirit  finds  rest, 
Bring  treasures  of  hope  to  my  home  in  the  west ; 
O  love !  that  with  tender  thought  soothes  all  my  pain, 
Bear  back  to  her  message  again  aud  again, 
Fond  maiden,  that  waiteth.  so  tender  a"nd  true, 
For  the  bark  that  shall  waft  me  again  to  her  view. 
But  in  vain  does  she  gaze  o'er  the  far-spreading  sea, 
Dear  Rose  of  the  Shannon  that  waiteth  for  me. 
O  lullaby  music !  go  up  from  the  sea, 
To  the  Rose  of  the  Shannon  that  waiteth  for  me. 

The  soft  pressure  of  lips  that  she  tenderly  gave, 
Where  the  river  was  wooing  the  shore  with  its'wave, 
Still  is  sweet  on  mine  own,  driving  sorrow  away, 
Making  dreams  of  the  night  soft  as  si  umbering  day; 
And  a  voice  from  her  soul  cometh  low  to  mine  ear, 
That  tells  me  the  hour  of  our  meeting  is  near ; 
For  a  bark  is  now  urging  its  flight  o'er  the  sea, 
That  shall  bring  the  sweet  Rose  of  the  Shannon  to  me. 
O !  swift  be  its  flight,  ever  gentle  the  sea, 
For  the  Rose  of  the  Shannon  is  coining  to  me! 


17i  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


MY    SAILOR    BOY.— [For  Music.] 

Waves  of  ocean,  moonlit  gleaming, 

Rock  my  sailor  boy  to  rest, 
Where  he  lies  in  slumber  dreaming, 

Cradled  on  thy  peaceful  breast. 
Gather  loving  ones  anear  him, 

While  his  spirit  homeward  flies  : 
Hands  caressing,  lips  that  cheer  him. 

Smiles  of  joy  and  beaming  eyes. 
Billow,  the  billow, 
Cradled  on  the  billow, 

Heaven  protect  my  sailor  boy. 

When  rude  tempest  foes  are  clashing, 

And  the  riven  clouds  reveal 
Fires  of  heaven  flaming,  flashing 

To  the  awful  thuuder-peal, 
Waves  of  ocean,  safely  waft  him, 

Till  the  haven  shall  appear, 
And,  like  gleeful  ones  abaft  him, 

Laughing,  chide  our  tender  fear. 
Billow,  the  billow, 
Cradled  on  the  billow, 

Heaven  protect  my  sailor  boy. 


The  most  that  can  be  said  of  man 

Is  this:  whate'er  his  station, 
His  life  is  based  on  nature's  plan, 

In  closest  imitation. 
If  pure  of  soul,  exalted  he — 

No  work  of  God  is  meeter  ; 
If  base,  no  beast  of  low  degree, 

Nor  no  vile  thing  completer. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  175 

THE    WEB    OF   LIFE. 

She  is  feeble  and  old, 

And  the  cottage  is  cold, 
Where  she  telleth  the  hours  away, 

Alone  in  her  toil, 

In  her  patient  inoil 
And  weariness,  day  by  day. 

Her  frame  is  slight, 

And  her  hair  is  light, 
Like  the  gray  of  the  winter  leaves, 

And  she  plies  the  loom, 

In  her  ancient  room, 
And  she  sings  as  her  web  she  weaves : 
"  Warp  and  weft, — right  and  left, 

So  shall  my  shuttle  go ; 
O  Thou,  Divine !  may  this  web  of  mine 
Be  white,  like  the  falling  snow. 

"  Once  was  I  young, 

And  fair  among 
The  maids  of  the  olden  time; 
My  hopes  were  new. 
And  my  heart  was  true, 
And  merrily  ran  my  rhyme. 
The  lad  that  I  loved 
My  blessing  proved, 
And  he  was  my  joy  and  pride 
For  fifty  years ; — 
Ah !  many  the  tears 
That  I  shed  when  my  good  man  died. 
Warp  and  weft ; — right  and  left, 
So  shall  ray  shuttle  go ; 


176  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

O  Thou  Divine !  may  this  web  of  mine 
Be  pure  as  the  falling  snow. 

"  My  children  four ! 

They  come  no  more 
Where  the  old  hearth- embers  burn; 
For  the  river  is  wide, 
And  strong  is  its  tide, 
And  their  frail  barks  cannot  return. 
All  gone, — all  dead ! 
And  three  were  wed, 
And  one  in  his  youth  passed  by. 
There  are  five  low  mounds 
In  the  churchyard  grounds 
Where  my  dear  ones  together  lie. 
Warp  and  weft ; — right  and  left, 

So  shall  my  shuttle  go ; 
O  Thou  divine  !  may  this  web  of  mine 
Be  pure  as  the  falling  snow. 

"  In  the  web  of  years 

There  are  sighs  and  tears, 
That  are  oft  to  the  world  unknown ; 

For  there's  many  a  knot 

In  the  hard,  hard  lot 
Of  her  who  must  weave  it  alone. 

Alone!  soul!  No! 

Every  cloud  of  woe 
Is  set  in  a  sky  of  blue; 

For  the  heaviest  rod 

In  the  hand  of  God 
On  the  olive  of  mercy  grew. 
Warp  and  weft,— right  and  left, 


Miscellaneous  Poems. 


So  shall  ray  shuttle  go ; — 
O  Thou,  Divine !  in  this  shroud  of  mine 
Let  me  slumber  beneath  the  snow." 

And  the  sun,  by  day, 
And  the  moon's  dim  ray 
Shed  light  in  a  lonely  room  ; 
For  the  weft  is  run, 
And  her  work  is  done, 
And  still  is  the  ancient  loom. 
Her  web  is  as  clear 
As  an  angel's  tear, — 
If  ever  the  angels  weep, — 

And  it  wraps  her  bones. — 
There  are  six  white  stones 
Where  she  and  her  loved  ones  sleep. 
Thus  pass  we  along  with  the  shifting  throng, 

And  ever  life-shuttles  go. — 
God  keep  us  aright !  May  our  weft  be  white, 
And  pure  as  the  drifting  snow. 


TREASURES    OF   MEMORY. 

When  the^ibnd  one,  loved  so  well, 

Speaks  in  tones  of  tender  cheer, 
Pure  and  sacred  is  the  spell 

That  charms  the  listening  lover's  ear. 
Those  soft  accents  evermore 

Shall  be  rarest  melody, 
While  the  harp  of  life  shall  pour 

The  varied  strains  of  memory. 

R 


178  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Maiden  eyes  in  light  express 

Thoughts  which  only  love  should  dare  ; 
And  her  lips  their  sweets  confess, 

Like  rose-perfuine  on  morning  air. 
O !  to  heart,  and  soul  alone, 

Such  revealmeut,  pure  and  free, 
Shall,  when  Earth  has  darker  grown, 

Be  light  and  kiss  of  memory. 

Faithful  love's  benign  demand 

Bids  the  doubt,  the  fear  depart, 
When  the  pressure  soft  of  hand 

Has  lulled  to  peace  the  troubled  heart. 
That  soft  touch,  as  years  unfold 

Fate  or  fortune,  still  shall  be, 
When  the  hand  is  growing  old, 

The  dear  caress  of  memory. 


FAIR    AMERICA. 

By  order  of  the  "Bartholdi  Monument"  committee,  the 
original  copy  of  this  poem  was  deposited  in  the  corner 
stone  of  the  pedestal  of  the  statue  of  "  Liberty  Lighting 
the  World,"  on  Bedloe's  Island,  N.  Y.  Harbor. 

Fair  America !  bright  was  the  morn  of  thy  fame, 
And  the  sun  of  thy  triumph  ascended  in  light; 
For  the  fathers  then  dared  by  their  deeds  to  proclaim 

That  the  freedom  of  man  is  a  God-given  right. 
And  the  voices  responsive  are  echoing  still, 
Over  Earth  where  the  peoples  exult  in  the  thrill. 
As  they  gaze  on  thy  free-waving  banner  unfurled, 
With  the  splendor  of  stars  that  illumine  the  world. 

In  the  perils  and  woes  of  thine  earliest  days, 
O  America!  strong  were  thy  foernen  arrayed; 


Miscellaneous  Poems,  179 


But  thy  faith  was  sublime,  aud,  by  marvelous  ways, 

Was  thy  liberty  won  from  the  spoiler  dismayed. 
And  the  laurel  of  glory  on  Washington's  brow, 
By  all  nations  approved,  is  thine  heritage  now; 
Saints  aud  sages  salute  thee  with  banner  unfurled 
With  the  splendor  of  stars  that  illumine  the  world. 

A  republic  new-born, — France,  with  histories  old, 

Sends  a  gift  unto  thee,  with  fraternal  embrace. — 
Hail!  thou  promise  of  peace  unto  millions  untold, 
Who  shall  gaze  evermore  on  thy  beautiful  face. 
Guide  the  pilgrim  of  liberty  over  the  sea, — 
Aud  thou,  country,  defend  him  that  cometh  to  thee, 
With  the  sword  and  the  shield,  all   thy  banners  un 
furled. 
With  the  splendor  of  stars  that  illumine  the  world. 

O  America!  God  will  His  blessings  bestow, 

And  thy  triumph  secure  shall  forever  prevail; 
If  thy  garment  be  white,  as  in  ages  ago, 

When  Columbus  pressed  onward  his  storm-daring 

sail. 

Bid  thy  glad  maids  to  sing  of  the  laud  of  their  birth, 
Till  the  sisters  respond  from  all  regions  of  Earth, 
Where  thy  chieftains  are  bearing  thy  banner  un 
furled, 
With  the  splendor  of  stars  that  illumine  the  world. 

Fair  America !  crowned  as  with  radiance  divine, 
What  the  fathers  achieved  may  thy  wisdom  retain  ; 

Still  the  star  on  thy  brow  beam  with  promise  benign, 
And  prosperity  grace  all  thy  favored  domain. 

As  the  years  onward  move  through  the  ages  of  time, 

When  the  free  nations  march  to  thy  music  sublime, 


180  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


Point  thy  prestige  all- glorious,  thy  banner  unfurled, 
With  the  splendor  of  stars  that  illumine  the  world. 


IF    WE    HAD    KNOWN. 

If  we  had  known,  ere.  we  had  done 

Some  things  which  we  regret  too  late, 
That  threads  of  evil,  blindly  spun, 

Might  darken  through  our  web  of  fate ; 
Had  we  more  highly  prized  the  gift 

Of  life,  there  might  not,  could  not  be, 
These  dearest  hopes  and  loves  adrift, 

Like  flotsam  on  a  restless  sea. 

Had  we  been  moved  by  friendship's  fears, 

Or  touched  by  love's  despairing  sigh, 
Perhaps  the  tempest  shocks  of  years 

Had  wrecked  us  less  in  passing  by. 
How  had  we  striven  to  subdue 

And  banish  all  alluring  foes, 
Remembering  that  life's  evening  view 

Of  Earth  should  end  in  soul-repose. 

Yes !  had  we  known — had  we  been  told 

By  friend  believed,  or  light  within, 
What  we  should  learn  while  growing  old, 

How  different  might  our  lives  have  been. 
False  guides  would  not  have  led  astray, 

Nor  snares  have  tripped  our  wandering  feet, 
Friendship  abuse,  nor  love  betray 

With  rapture  feigned,  too  dear,  too  sweet. 

To  count  and  measure,  one  by  one, 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  181 


The  passing  days,  at  eventide, 
By  tasks  well  wrought,  by  duty  done. 

Had  better  been  than  all  beside. 
Submissive  bow,  O  soul !  nor  dare 

Arraign  the  will  that  ordered  so ; 
Mercy  and  Love  must  heed  the  prayer : 
"  Father !  we  did  not,  could  not  know." 


SONG  OF  THE  HINDU  MAIDEN. 

If  I  were  a  princess,  and  saw  thee  afar, 

I  would  class  thee  with  those  who  have  radiant 

wings ; 
As  a  peri,  Earth  -prisoned,  in  love  with  a  star, 

Would  regard  it  as  best  of  all  beautiful  things. 
I  would  sigh  for  thee,  haste  to  thee,  knowing  no  fear 

Save  a  tender  desire  to  be  pure  in  thy  sight, 
As  the  lily  betrays  the  sweet  joy  of  a  tear 

In  a  love -folded  dewdrop,  revealed  to  the  light. 

If  I  were  a  saint,  and  thou  earnest  to  me, 

As  a  pilgrim  of  love,  to  adore  at  the  shrine, 
I  would  open  my  heart's  inner  temple  to  thee, 

And  reveal  all  its  treasures,  and  all  should  be  thine. 
Do  the  souls  of  the  lovers,  in  world  beyond  this, 

Still  remember  the  joys  they  have  earlier  known  ? 
Let  me  lose  myself  there  in  a  measureless  bliss : 

Love's  nirvana — repose  ! — and  be  only  thine  own. 


It  were  better  to  beg  than  to  borrow, 
When  you  know  that  you  cannot  repay; 

For  an  honest,  contented  to-morrow 
May  be  spoiled  by  a  lying  to-day. 


182  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

MY  LADY   DEAR.— [Serenade.] 

Sleep,  sweetly  sleep,  my  lady  dear, 

While  evening's  moon  like  silver  glows, 
And  stars  look  down  from  skies  more  clear 

Than  gaudy  daylight  splendor  shows. 
Zephyr  is  winging  over  the  sea ; 

Perfumes,  by  wooing  roses  spent, 
Come  to  thy  pillow  breathing  ou  thee, 

And  night  with  love  is  eloquent. 
Sleep,  sweetly  sleep,  my  lady  dear ; 
Sleep,  sleep,  sleep. 

Dream,  dream  of  me,  my  lady  dear ; 

Whisper  fond  words  of  tender  tone, 
Such  as  a  lover  true  should  hear 

From  gentle  lady  all  his  own. 
Vows  that  were  spoken  long,  long  ago, 

On  moonlit  lawn,  with  love  caress, 
In  softest  cadence  murmured  should  flow 

From  fragrant  lips  that  kiss  to  bless. 
Dream,  dream  of  me,  my  lady  dear ; 
Dream,  dream,  dream. 


SPIRITE.—[For  Mmic.} 

While  mildly  beams  the  evening  star 

Above  the  dewy,  distant  lea, 
O  thou  pure  spirit !  from  afar, 

In  radiant  beauty  come  to  me. 
Ah  !  tender  joy ! — a  rapture  thrill 

Steals  o'er  me,  like  the  gentle  charm 
When  lips  their  fragrant  balm  distil, 

Allaying  fluttering  love's  alarm. 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  183 

Come,  faithful  one.     The  placid  Moon 

Ascends  among  the  sister  spheres, 
As  when  our  souls  received  the  boon 

Of  love  in  life's  young,  joyous  years. 
Again,  in  dreamy  woodland  glade, 

Shall  love  and  thought  be  innocent, 
As  when  together  there  we  strayed 

At  eve,  and  hope  was  eloquent. 

How  fondly  faithful  memory  dwells 

On  songs  we  sang  to  music  rare. 
Whose  notes,  like  chime  of  distant  bells, 

Seem  lingering  on  the  vibrant  air. 
O  often  leave  the  sister  throng 

Of  angels  in  the  realm  sublime, 
And  come  to  me  with  some  dear  song 

We  sang  in  dreamy  twilight  time. 


WHITTIER. 

Mourn,  sister  Muses,  in  your  sacred  grove, 
And  drop  your  tears  along  the  dewy  sod, 

For  him  who  purely  lived  on  Earth,  who  strove, 
To  sing  the  songs  best  pleasing  unto  God. 

A  gentle  soul,  a  true  and  truthful  friend 

Has  passed  away  beyond  the  distant  spheres, 

To  where  the  hymn  of  life  shall  never  end, 
Nor  strength  grow  feebler  with  the  flight  of  years. 

How  pure  his  strains !  as  though  an  angel's  wings 
Had  swept  the  harp  poised  in  celestial  air, 

When  his  deft  fingers,  wandering  o'er  the  strings, 
Evoked  the  tuneful  spirit  slumbering  there. 


184  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

How  true  his  thought  to  catch  the  higher  tone ; 

How  swift  his  pen  to  write  the  thrilling  line  ; 
Faith,  loyalty  and  virtue  were  bis  own, 

With  mood  and  mien  devoted  and  benign. 

Heaven  gains  a  seraph  when  a  poet  dies ! 

Another  strain,  a  new,  melodious  chord 
Are  added  to  the  swelling  harmonies 

Where  angel  choirs,  responding,  praise  the  Lord. 


ISRAEL    PUTNAM. 

Written  while  standing  near  the  grave  of  the  old  hero,  in 
Brooklyn,  Conn.,  June  10,  1863. 

Man  of  the  age  heroic !  when  the  steel 

Of  patriot  yeomen  dared  the  British  foe, 
And  forced  his  shattered,  bleeding  ranks  to  feel 

The  shock  of  vengeance,  giving  blow  for  blow ! 
Who  backward  flung,  as  offerings  to  the  waves, 

Hireling  and  chief  whose  feet  oppressed  our  shores, 
Teaching  that  children  never  can  be  slaves, 

Whom  the  brave  mothers  of  our  country  bore ; — 

Oh !  once  again  for  thine  unconquered  arm, 

To  point  the  path  and  launch  the  bolts  of  war ; 
Thy  clarion  voice  to  sound  the  loud  alarm  $ 

Thine  eagle  eye  to  see  the  foe  afar. 
If  call  could  wake  thee  from  thy  slumber  deep, 

If  wails  of  praying  souls  could  reach  thine  ears, 
How  would  thy  quickened  dust  the  promise  keep, 

Ancient,  still  loyal  in  these  later  years ! 

Can  Earth-born  cares  the  generous  thoughts  engage 
Of  patriots  passed  beyond  the  bounds  of  time? 


Miscellaneous  Poems.  185 

Then  unforgotten  is  the  martial  rage 

That  nerved  thy  frame  with  energy  sublime. 

For  even  the  blissful  fields  of  heaven  must  share, 
In  some  degree,  the  tumult  here  on  Earth; 

And  thou  of  dauntless  soul  must  yearn  to  bare 
The  arm  of  vengeance  for  thy  laud  of  birth. 

A  nameless  board  and  shapeless  marks  the  spot 

Where  sleeps  thy  mortal,  O  heroic  chief! 
Yet  for  thy  meed  of  fame  it  matters  not, 

And  eulogy  of  records  is  too  brief. 
No  towering  shaft,  nor  grand  elegiac  verse, 

Our  nation's  gratitude  to  thee  display ; 
But  fathers  here  thy  story  shall  rehearse 

To  listening  children  till  the  latest  day. 


SONNET.— [Mother.] 

O  mother  face!  O  smiling  mother  eyes! 

O  lips  low -murmuring  words  of  tenderness ! 
What  pure  emotions,  peaceful  thoughts  arise, 
With  trust  unyielding,  faith  that  never  dies, 

While  memory  blends  them  with  her  love-caress. 
Life  were  not  worth  the  task  of  tempting  fate, 

Did  we  not  knov  that  her  unwavering  heart 
As  fondly  beats  beyond  the  pearly  gate, 

As  when  it  formed  Earth's  purer,  better  part. 
Home  is  the  court  of  paradise, — a  place 

Made  sacred  by  her  own  peculiar  care ; 
Nor  could  the  soul  its  highest  virtue  trace, 
Remembering  not  her  placid,  happy  face, 

Nor  dream  of  heaven  without  the  mother  there. 


186  Miscellaneous. 

TO    THE   LIBERTY   BELL. 

O  Liberty  Bell !  O  Liberty  Bell ! 

My  heart  leaps  to  thee,  and  my  tears  up-well, 

My  bosoin  seems  heaving  like  billowy  swell, 

And  my  soul  is  o'erflowing  with  musical  rhymes, — 

Love-tears !  dear  emotions !  glad  songs  of  the  times 

When  thy  peal  gave  the  tone  to  America's  chimes ; 

When  the  fathers  inspired  spake  for  land  and  for  sea, 

And,  by  message  immortal,  proclaimed  the  decree 

That  the  Earth  is  the  Lord's  and  His  people  are  free ! 

O  Liberty  Bell!  O  Liberty  Bell! 
Evermore  shall  the  echoes  of  history  tell 
Of  thy  clangor  sonorous,  of  tyranny's  knell. 
Thine  the  signal  to  patriots  firm  in  accord, 
To  arise  and  escape  from  the  thraldom  abhorred, 
The  alarum  of  war,  and  a  prayer  to  the  Lord. 
Then  the  wise  men  ordained  the  new  era  of  light, 
And,  with  faith  in  the  promise,  the  triumph  of  right, 
Led  their  sons  to  the  armies  and  shared  in  the  fight. 

O  Liberty  Bell !  O  Liberty  Bell ! 
Mute  now,  save  to  whisper,  like  voice  of  the  shell 
Which  we  pilfer  from  ocean,  that  all  is  well. 
Hushed  else  unto  silence !     Nor  shouldst  thou  again, 
As  thou  didst  in  the  full  tide  of  jubilee  then, 
Speak  with  clangorous  voice  to  the  children  of  men. 
Thy  peal  that  proclaimed  that  the  fetters  were  riven, 
Now  attuned  for  the  ears  of  the  blest  should  be  given, 
Sweetly  pure  in  the  full  chimes  harmonic  of  Heaven. 


To  think  and  know,  nor  do  the  thing  we  ought, 
Is  coward  knowledge — only  stunted  thought. 


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